Not Going Away
by FrostandLight
Summary: Sam's hallucinations of Lucifer have gotten unruly, and he goes to Dean and Cas with the truth. But as it turns out, the illusions are more serious than he'd ever thought. (Eventually) consensual Sam/Lucifer, established Dean/Castiel. Sequel now in progress.
1. Won't Get Fooled Again

**Chapter 1: Won't Get Fooled Again**

**Warnings: None yet, other than mild language and references to Hell.**

**Pairings: Implied, established Dean/Castiel**

**Spoilers up to Season 7, Episode 10**

Sam had thought that he had it under control.

Or rather, he didn't think that. But like usual, he had been optimistic about his band-aid solution. In this case, it had been a literal band-aid; pressing the wound on his hand gave him a stabbing, burning anchor to what was real and what was from the Hell locked in his head.

Along with the fear, and the anger, and the disappointment…he couldn't help but think of how Dean would look when he learned about this. How Sam had messed up, _again_, and was having trouble picking up the pieces.

But that wasn't what he should be focusing on.

"Come on, Sammy," the devil said. He walked—_they walked_—briskly down a sunny street in Generic Small Town, Georgia. "I missed you. We never talk anymore. How's your dad? Or…dads," he continued with that smug, false concern.

After years of practice, Sam was getting used to pretending that his visions and hallucinations weren't there. As someone who was currently impersonating a federal officer, such a skill was important for appearances' sake.

Lucifer seemed to take his silence as a cue to continue. "Not well at the moment, huh? My condolences." His soft, gruff voice was an almost unbearable irritant to Sam; he'd spent almost a year being pursued by this bastard, and now several months haunted by his mirage. This voice was kinda like a bell to Pavlov's dogs. Only instead of drooling, Sam wanted to gank the son of a bitch.

He rounded the corner up the drive to the motel he and Dean were calling home this week. As he got his room key out, he scanned for the Impala. Since Cas had returned, he and Dean had been...out a lot, and Sam hoped the car's absence would mean that was the case right now. He was going to tell Dean. Really, he was. But he wanted time to think first.

He swung the door open, and that damp, dusty smell flooded his nose. The room was small, dark, and unoccupied. The pair walked inside, and Sam flopped onto his bed with a frustrated sigh.

"Okay, I know you're not real, you admitted you're not real…unless you plan on annoying me to death, just_ leave_." He insisted, arm draped over his closed eyes like he was nursing a headache.

The devil sighed indulgently. "I don't want to _anything_ you to death, Sam."

Nonetheless, a weight was lifted from the room, and the chill Sam hadn't noticed began to dissipate. The younger Winchester was alone with his thoughts.

…

"Yeah Sam, damn right I'm not thrilled." Dean said gruffly, pacing the room. Cas's gaze followed him seriously.

"I didn't figure, but you want me to tell you everything, right? That's how you said you could trust me. So I'm telling you. But I still know he isn't real, Dean. I'm not a total head case." Sam replied, trying to stay more patient than his brother. He didn't need to be this irritable—it wasn't Sam's fault. Technically it was Castiel's.

"I know Sam, but damnit. You kept saying you were fine."

"I was! I had a way to handle it! But it's…it's not working anymore."

Dean sighed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Okay Cas, fix him."

All eyes were on the angel, who looked dejected. Or as Dean would say, 'constipated.'

"I…Dean…" the gruff voice tried.

"It's okay, Cas." Sam said, understanding.

There was a long, awful silence. It was the silence in which Sam looked for words, Dean smoldered irritably, and Cas did…whatever he did behind that concerned scowl. It was the routine they always had to play through to get past it—Dean had to blame his brother for something he couldn't help, then Sam had to apologize and justify himself, and Cas had to eventually find the clue or lore or whatever it was that moved them along.

The angel's frown deepened almost imperceptibly to one of nervous confusion as his glance flicked to the empty air next to Sam.

"And you don't think we're meant to be?" Lucifer asked earnestly. "We're the same, Sam. Your own brother, the closest person to you, is so willing to blame you. To pass judgment on your good intentions. Why is it _I'm_ the one you don't trust?"

Sam didn't let his glance move to the figure in his peripheral vision. He didn't need Dean thinking he was having an episode of mild craziness at that very moment. He ignored the devil.

"Cas, can you…stay here, with Sam? I gotta grab a beer." Dean said suddenly. He didn't wait for a reply before slipping out the door The Impala's engine roared to life a moment later.

"DUI as therapy." Sam sighed.

Castiel nodded, then demonstrated a lack of appreciation for segues. "You are seeing Lucifer again," he stated gravely.

Sam's eyebrows rose with involuntary surprise, and he glanced to where the devil still sat, watching the proceedings with casual interest.

"Yeah, I said that. But I know what's real Cas. I told you."

"I'm not so sure that you do. Have you asked this image of my brother something you don't know? Something you couldn't know?"

"Why would I do that? He said he's not real. I can make him disappear." Sam protested. "And besides," he continued, gathering his thoughts "he could lie to me. Say he couldn't answer. "

Cas nodded in regretful agreement, gaze lowering as he thought.

Lucifer, on the other hand, shifted on the bed to lean toward Sam, staring in a way that dragged Sam's eyes to meet his. "I could lie to you, Sammy, but I won't. I want you to trust me."

That was all Sam could take.

"_Trust you_? You tortured me in Hell, you son of a bitch! You killed Bobby, and Cas, and you would've tried to bring Adam down if Dean hadn't gotten in the way of your fist! Why the fuck would I trust you?" He spat, standing to yell at the fallen angel on his bed.

And Lucifer looked hurt. Of course the devil could fake it, but Sam had never seen him drop his sarcasm for anything but his hate, even as his vessel. But he looked genuinely hurt, and it made the hunter pause.

"Fine. Then I'll ask you again: are you real?" Sam demanded.

"More than before," he replied with that infuriating little smile.

And now Sam felt more like panicking. "How is that possible?"

"What did he say?" Castiel asked.

"He said he's more real than before," Sam replied distractedly. "Tell me something I don't know. Anything." He continued.

"Jimmy Novak's father was a schoolteacher named William. He was born in 1932," Lucifer replied with patient amusement.

Sam repeated the answer to Castiel, whose brow furrowed with growing concern. "Sam, this is a true problem," he said. "I will need to tell Dean when he returns."

"Yeah, I know." He replied. "I just…how is this possible?"

"I wouldn't want to say without absolute certainty, but…have you seen anything other than the image of my brother recently? Anything else from Hell?" He asked.

"No, not recently," Sam admitted. "I did at first, but now it's only him."

"And can you, uh, feel when he's around?" The angel pressed.

Sam was nervous and confused, knowing that his answer was not a good one. "Yeah."

"Sam, I need you to listen to me. I would guess that Lucifer's energy bound to your soul somewhat. At first this would mean that even your conscious mind had snippets from Hell, but now you are seeing my brother. For real. And he is managing to slip into existence through you." Cas explained. "It's unprecedented," he added, seeing Sam's disbelief "but I see no explanation for your…delirium."

That was a whole lot to take in. Hadn't people spent a good part of last year telling him there was no way to get a soul out of the cage? And now suddenly Lucifer had managed to do it via piggyback?

"Hard to believe, I know," Satan said, rising from his perch on the edge of the creaky motel mattress. "But now I really owe you Sammy. So I want you to know how important you are to me."

"Okay," Sam interjected before the devil could say more. "You've said that before. Do I need to list the friends of mine you've killed again? _I don't believe you_. Except if this 'importance' is like the importance of your best suit." He snapped.

"No Sam, you misunderstand," he replied. "Things have changed. It's not about God, not right now. I have an eternity for that. Right now? It's _all_ about you."

**Hope everyone enjoyed that as an intro. I should be updating within the week, so hopefully you feel like continuing. R&R is always appreciated.**


	2. Just What I Needed

**Chapter 2: Just What I Needed**

**Warnings: Mild language, I suppose.**

**Pairings: Dean/Castiel**

**Spoilers: Well, apparently my first chapter was right in line with the newest episode, so spoilers are up to Season 7, episode 16.**

**Thank you very much to those of you who reviewed!**

So the ghost had turned out to be a particularly unintelligent shapeshifter, and Sam and Dean were on the road again.

"Winchesters plus one, eh bunk buddy?" Lucifer lounged in the back seat of the Impala like a child king on a gilded throne. Sam had been doing his very best to ignore the devil, as much for Dean's sake as for his own.

"I still don't believe this, Sam."

"I said I'm sorry, Dean," the younger brother replied with a tired sigh.

"That's great, but I literally mean I don't believe it. Lucifer is bonded to your soul? What the Hell does that even mean?" He growled, frowning at the endless stretch of backroad through the windshield.

Sam shrugged.

"How come we've never heard of this?" He demanded to no one in particular. "So like, is he going to take over your mind? Do you realize how dangerous this could get, Sam?"

"Yeah Dean, it's occurred to me that sharing my mind with Satan might have drawbacks other than the annoyance." He said, still trying to regulate his tone. He was silently thankful that his brother seemed to be making the same effort.

There was a long silence filled only by the sound of the road—the Impala's engine roaring, rocks kicking up to knock against its underbelly and lego blocks rattling as the fans worked to combat the heat of the Georgian summer night. Those blocks reminded Sam, ever so slightly, of the last wrestling match they'd had in his brain.

Sam had questions that he suddenly burned to ask, but he wasn't sure Dean would appreciate knowing that he was chauffeuring Lucifer.

"Six hours is a long time to pout in the dark, Sam," the extra passenger said. Sam agreed. But he wasn't going to reply, and he wasn't going to sleep, in case the devil had an all-access pass to that corner of his brain too. He just wasn't up for that tonight.

"I wouldn't invade your dreams. As I understand it, you humans need your dreams to keep from going nuts. And we can't have you getting any crazier, can we?" His tone was back to that sarcastic concern. But Sam trusted that it wasn't a lie. Or rather, he _believed_ it wasn't a lie. It seemed to him that there must be a difference.

After a long wait during which Sam pretended not to be eager to sleep, the younger hunter finally rested his head against the Chevy's door and let his aching eyes close.

….

Sam woke up in Kentucky. He had stumbled behind Dean to the check-in desk of a golf-themed motel, and collapsed back to bed as soon as they reached their room. He didn't usually need much sleep, but he was dead tired. He wasn't sure how Dean could manage to drive half the night without going crazy or passing out. He assumed fuming rage and suspicion prevented the latter.

In the morning, Sam woke up yet again in Kentucky. Russell Springs, according to the stationary next to his bed. Dean snored softly, face-down in his pillow as their room's AC clattered to life. He groaned, stretching for a good long while. Eventually he literally rolled himself out of bed and moved as quietly as possible to the bathroom, where he started a lukewarm shower.

The younger Winchester was grateful when he finished his shower without incident. It meant one of several things, all of which seemed positive. The foremost possibility on his optimistic list was that yesterday had been a very believable dream. However, as he pulled on a pair of jeans and stepped out of the bathroom, towel messily scrubbing at his hair, Sam's breath hitched with surprised disappointment.

"I need to talk to you." Sam whispered to the devil after assuring himself that Dean was still snoring contentedly.

Lucifer nodded his head cooperatively and motioned for Sam to lead the way.

They slipped out the door of their room and into a bright summer day on the edge of Russell Springs. Sam walked out behind the building, into the quiet woods, before calling for Castiel. The angel came almost immediately, like as on-edge as Dean.

"Hey Cas," Sam started apologetically. "I was just hoping you'd stay around for…"

"Protection," Castiel finished helpfully. Sam nodded. He wanted more privacy than this, but the situation called for more than a little caution on his part.

"Yeah. So," Sam started, turning to Lucifer. "We need to talk."

"Are you breaking up with me Sammy?" He replied with humour in his tone.

Sam glared. "Seriously," he said pathetically. He'd already forgotten their onlooker was there.

"Fine, yes, let's be serious," Lucifer began. "What do you need?" He asked, crossing his arms expectantly, an eyebrow raised and his attention seemingly undivided.

"What is your game?" Sam replied.

"This reminds me of a song," Cas interjected softly, seeming confused that he knew any songs.

"I don't have a game besides what I've told you. I'm not interested in you as a vessel at the moment, Sam. I'm interested in you _period_."

"Yeah, right," Sam gave his best fake laugh. "And what's changed in the last two years, that you don't want to start the apocalypse anymore?"

"Oh, I still want to. Just not yet. Not now." The devil answered casually.

"Uh huh. And why's that?"

A patient sigh. "You aren't listening. You were raised just for me. Your whole life, your destiny was to be my vessel. And you were, but you stopped it. You freed me from Hell, you dropped me back in, and you dragged me back up again. I'm not such a fool that that doesn't make me pause." He explained. "I'm neither ungrateful nor free from curiosity. And with my brother in the cage instead of me, I have all the time in the universe."

Somehow that explanation was not completely comforting.

"And why would you tell me all that if it were true?" Sam asked.

"Because I fail to see what you could do to change it, or frankly what you would even object to."

"And what do _you_ plan to do? Haunt me?" The Winchester prodded.

"For now."

…..

So the devil was interested in Sam. Again.

Dean was getting seriously tired of the demonic shit that followed his brother like a conga line. If the universe didn't want them to have peace for five damn minutes, that was fine. But what had happened to hunting ghosts and witches and wendigos?

Dean had asked Cas to keep an eye on Sam while he was sleeping. Now Sam was gone, and Dean fidgeted nervously around the motel room while he waited.

He brushed his teeth, icy flavour coldly burning the back of his throat. The fog from Sam's shower had mostly cleared from the little mirror above the sink. Dean stared back at his own face, trying not to let his gaze flit to the reflection of the door. Trying not to worry for Sam and Cas.

Another very long hour passed before Dean heard heavy footsteps approaching the room. It was his brother only. "I'm going for a swim," Sam announced as soon as the door opened, not letting Dean ask. Castiel would report it all anyways.

There was a pool behind their motel, and maybe Sam did need to just _do_ something right now. Dean still didn't like it though. He was going to have to make a curfew or something when his brother came back.

Sam got changed into trunks in a hurry, and rushed out of the room before Dean could really protest.

Castiel appeared in his place a moment later. "That was…unexpected," he said gruffly as he sat on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Cas? What the Hell happened?" Dean demanded, coming to stand in front of the angel. _His_ angel.

"Lucifer…I believe he really has shifted his interest from revenge to…well, to Sam." He said, arms propped on his legs and hands bunched into tight fists.

"To Sam. And not for revenge." Dean repeated disbelievingly.

"Well…he didn't specifically say that, apparently. He simply isn't interested in the apocalypse for the moment," Cas clarified.

"Oh yeah. I feel all better. You couldn't have gotten some more useful info from him?" Dean growled.

Suddenly the angel was pushing him against the faded wallpaper with his forearm, glaring angrily up with those grey-blue eyes.

"No Dean, I couldn't have. I have and will continue to do everything I can for you and your brother. _Everything_. I will forever. I regret every single time that I held back for any reason. _Do you understand me_? I serve _you_, Dean. I love _you_." He loosened the pressure on Dean's chest just slightly, and the man groaned as his sternum creaked back into place. "So no. I couldn't have gotten anything better from Lucifer or from Sam. I'll thank you to bear that in mind."

He dropped his arm the rest of the way, freeing Dean from his inhuman strength. "Yeah Cas, I will. I'm sorry." He replied after a long moment. "I just don't have any idea what to do anymore. It seems like I can't do anything for Sam anymore. He's my little brother, Cas, and the devil is looking to date rape him. I can't just sit around and be okay with that."

"I know Dean. And I promise you, we will find a way to free Sam. Just be patient."

**So? Hope I'm living up to expectations. Thanks again for the lovely lovely reviews! They're very encouraging. I promise to publish again very soon.**

**Also, a question: just how much Destiel would we like to leak into this little Sammifer story?**


	3. Bad Company

**Chapter 3: Bad Company**

**Warnings: Mild language**

**Pairings: Dean/Castiel**

**Spoilers: Season 7, episode 16**

Their case in Russell Springs had turned out to be a bust, as these things sometimes did. Generally Dean got to say 'I told you so' when that happened, and it seemed to make him happy enough.

They had no new leads to follow. At the moment, all they could do was research the leviathans and keep an eye on Lucifer.

However, Sam had not seen the fallen angel in several days. He wavered back and forth between relief and anxiousness at Lucifer's absence. But eventually Dean reined in his interrogations of his brother, and they were able to research in relative peace.

Cas was off doing his own sort of recon, so not 'distracting' Dean as often as usual.

Despite this, they made no progress. Leviathans were very hard to kill, and Purgatory was very hard to open.

Sam had the most wicked case of cabin fever he'd ever experienced. Dean didn't want him to go anywhere alone, in case the devil pounced on Sam's mind somehow. It meant that yet again, Sam had to sneak out at night.

He didn't trust the Impala's engine to not wake Dean up, so he walked. He walked back down the highway he assumed they'd come into town on. After the better part of an hour passed and he started feeling less claustrophobic in his own skin, Sam turned slightly off of the road and into the sparse patch of woods to his right.

"Lucifer," he called hesitantly.

There was no sound in his appearance, but it did get colder.

"Hello Sam," Lucifer said. "Miss me already?"

"Don't flatter yourself. It's just a little too quiet lately. What are you doing?"

The devil sighed. "Gathering my strength," he replied with what seemed to be a hint of embarrassment. Instead of waiting for Sam to reply, however, he reached a hand out and rested it on Sam's shoulder.

Sam had forgotten that Lucifer was cold. Specifically, he was warm yet cold, like when you go for a jog in the winter and your skin is freezing but you aren't chilled. The younger Winchester started to remember this sensation from when Lucifer had been wearing his skin.

Sam shuddered, and blamed it on the temperature.

Then he realized that his hallucination had never touched him before. He pulled away like he had been stabbed.

"How can you do that?" He demanded.

"Do what? Touch you?" Lucifer enquired, dropping his arm. "As I said, I'm gathering my strength. More accurately, I'm gathering my _being_. Soon I will be totally out of Hell."

"But you still won't have a body. You can't do anything," Sam insisted, trying not to sound desperately worried.

Lucifer indicated the form he had currently chosen with a broad wave of his hands. "I'll drag Nick up when I'm ready to," he assured the hunter.

"Nick would never say yes to you. Not again."

Again, that condescending amusement on the devil's face. He even laughed. "Sam, he has been pampered in Hell."

"Pampered?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Relatively speaking anyway. And he knows it. They've taken it easy on him, as I asked. Out of gratitude, you see. He was a good vessel, flawed though he obviously was. However, if he refuses me?" Lucifer shrugged. It was an innocent gesture which meant an eternity of torture for Nick one way or the other.

"Oh yeah, you're a decent guy. I can feel myself trusting you more already." The sarcasm in Sam's voice was as thick as he could make it.

"I didn't ask you to believe that I'm suddenly endeared to humans." He sighed. "I'm seeing that I need to be more specific with you." The devil continued, pacing in a circle around Sam, his hands in his back pockets. "I'm interested in being here, I'm grateful to you for the piggyback. I don't think you're stupid enough to believe more than that."

"Right. And hypothetically, let's say I'm an idiot and believe that you, the _devil_, aren't trying to restart the apocalypse or torture me. What exactly do you want?" He stared at the ground Lucifer had previously been standing on, rather than watch him circle—he preferred not to feel like cornered prey. Because as much as Sam didn't want to give Satan the satisfaction, he was _terrified_.

"I'm not _not_ up for torturing you, Sammy. You know that. But I can set aside my fun if I need to. I'm just so thrilled that we're chatting again! I was feeling so rejected."

"So you just want to talk to me," Sam said disbelievingly.

"And _you_ want to talk to _me_," Lucifer replied with a grin. "I toyed with your mundane little team. You, your repressed older brother, and his pet angel. We fought, and it was fun. I just want some quality time with you. Like a sleepover."

Sam considered this. Damn him, he honestly considered what the devil was telling him. "And what would you do if I said no?"

"What would I do? What would _you_ do, Sammy? You can say no, but you can't do anything. I'm willing to cooperate with you, so you might as well, ah, say _yes_ to this." He countered with a smirk..

Sam sighed, shoulders slumping, and considered his options.

…

There was a small nest of vampires holing up in a cottage town along Lake Superior, in Minnesota. They were trying to work cases along Dick Roman's campaign trail, and were trying to wrap this case up quickly to move on to North Dakota.

Unfortunately, as it usually did, haste had made them sloppy.

Sam was currently pinned down by an enormous bald vampire, who had a hand or each of his wrists and long, shark-like teeth bared. Sam was trying to push the monster back with a foot braced on the larger man's gut.

He couldn't see Dean, and wasn't sure what had happened to him, but he could hear him clearly enough. The older Winchester shouted with incoherent rage as he apparently had something metal—his gun, likely—wrenched from his hands and thrown across the room.

"Dean!" Sam yelled uselessly. The vampire wasn't tiring, but _he_ certainly was.

Lucifer, meanwhile, stood casually to the side.

"How have you two managed to stay alive this long?" The angel asked with seemingly honest curiosity.

Sam really wasn't in the mood to reply. He heard his brother drop to the ground with a breathless grunt. His own vampire was laughing now as his face creeped forward.

"Sam, if you'd let me borrow a bit of power, I might be willing to lend you a hand. We're BFFs, after all." He said, drawing closer slowly.

"I'm not giving you another_ inch_, you bastard!" Sam yelled, turning his gaze to see Nick's face.

"Oh no? I guess you're giving every inch you have to your new friend here," Lucifer said, his eyes flicking to indicate the vampire. "It's either him or me, Sam. But with me, maybe you'll see the daylight tomorrow."

"I don't care! _I don't want a damn thing from you_!" He spat. His anger choked and withered in his throat, turning to frustration and he heard Dean give out a strangled cry. Sam had an unusually broad knowledge of sounds, and it seemed that his brother was being beaten in the ribs by a crow bar.

The devil looked toward the other fight, wincing and sucking his teeth like he was watching a hockey brawl, not a fight to the death. When his gaze turned back to Sam, it was patient. Expectant. Unmoving.

"Fine. _Fine_, damnit!"

"S-Sam!" Dean coughed, apparently realizing what was happening.

"_Yes_," he gritted through his teeth.

A blinding white flash filled the room, its accompanying shriek drowning out everything else. The light enveloped everyone in the room, and while it left the Winchesters cold but unscathed, it seared away the very bones of the vampires, as if they stood only an inch from the sun. Sam was sure they opened their mouths to scream, but no sound could be heard over that horrible whine.

And then, Sam Winchester lost consciousness.

**Bwahaha, and the plot moves along. I just can't stop writing today.**


	4. More Than a Feeling

**Chapter 4: More than a Feeling**

**Warnings: Barely described nudity, language.**

**Pairings: Destiel, and a teeny bit of Sammifer? **

**Spoilers: Season 7 episode 16**

Sam woke in their Minnesotan motel room. It was almost morning, judging by the colour of the sky and the…the chill in the room.

Sam sat bolt-upright, and quickly regretted it. His head ached, and he felt hollow. But he _could_ move. It was just him in his skin. After the flashing blots of light cleared from his vision, Sam looked around. He found Castiel, perched stiffly on the edge of Dean's bed. Though his gaze now met Sam's, he was hunched protectively over Dean.

"What did you agree to, Sam?" The angel asked warily.

The memories came rushing back in a wave. "I uh…he asked me for a bit of my…power?" He replied, pressing the heel of one palm to his forehead in an attempt to stop and encroaching headache. "Did you carry us back? Is Dean okay?"

"Dean will be fine. Don't change the subject, Sam. Did you, before you agreed, tell him to give the power back when he was through?" Cas demanded.

Sam opened his mouth stupidly, and no words escaped. Cas's frown grew impossibly dark.

"Sam, you need to be very careful in your wording when you deal with my brother," he began.

"Yeah? Well I was kinda distracted." Sam replied, temper beginning to simmer.

"You can't deal with him when you're distracted either!" He said, standing.

"Well it was either that, or me and Dean dying. Frankly I think dealing was the right thing to do, even at a disadvantage." He yelled, rising to tower over the angel.

Dean groaned and turned in his bed, but didn't wake. Sam let out a very long sigh.

"I don't think I had any better option," he told the angel. It seemed like he was always choosing between bad and worse, and he was getting tired of it. Speaking of which, where was Lucifer?

His eyes flicked around the motel room, but he didn't see Nick's form anywhere.

The motion of turning made his body ache in that dull, stiff way that was all too familiar to him. When he was satisfied that they were currently alone, he stood and stumbled to take a shower.

"Let me clear me head, Cas." He said before the angel could protest.

The water felt so good. There had been a chill settling in his bones, and the warm spray began wiping it and his soreness away. He sighed, inhaling the thick steam and trying not to think, if only for a minute. The smell of stale sweat and copious amounts of blood rose with the steam, reminding him of the events of…what, 3 hours ago? It occurred to him that he wasn't really sure how much time had passed. Hell, it could have been more than 24 hours.

"5:24 AM, and still today," the devil supplied helpfully. Sam jumped.

_Damnit_.

Sam shivered and turned up the heat on the faucet, trying to fit as much of himself under the pitiful spray of water as he could.

"Could you, y'know…_not _be in the same room as me when I'm showering?" He whispered harshly, hoping Castiel—or worse, Dean—couldn't hear him.

"Sam, I'm a tenant in your melon. I've worn you around. Don't tell me you're going prudish on me now?"

"I don't remember saying I was thrilled about those things either." Sam replied icily.

There was a long silence, but Sam could tell that the room had not lost any of its occupants. Eventually he sighed and turned off the tap. He waited another long moment before drawing back the curtain. Lucifer was leaning against the sink, inspecting his short fingernails with an air of minimal interest.

And he was in the way of Sam's towel, which hung on the door to the right of the angel.

"Could you…move?" Sam forced the words out, trying to look anywhere else in the tiny bathroom as he stood, dripping and cold, in the bathtub.

Lucifer looked up from his grooming, flicked his eyes up and down Sam, and grabbed the towel for him, handing it over.

Sam's eyes widened as his face snapped into a horrified glare. He didn't reach up for the towel the angel was offering him.

"You're holding that towel," Sam said dumbly.

"And I was under the impression that you wanted to be," Lucifer replied, raising his eyebrow.

"You know what I'm saying," he replied, snatching it and quickly wrapping it around his waist without drying off. When he was sure the towel was secure, he reached out and grabbed the devil's wrist, which was more than it had been before. When he'd placed his hand on Sam's shoulder days before, it had felt like pressure, but not quite like a human hand. It was like a suggestion of sensation from a dream. Just a feeling.

But this? This was extraordinarily, impossibly, terrifyingly real. Sam was speechless. He was inhumanly cold, but a trail of heat snaked up Sam's arm from where their skin touched, like the feverish sensation he had gotten from demon blood. His heart began to thud in his ears.

"Feeling a bit forward all of a sudden, Sam?" There was humour in Lucifer's voice, and a touch of something else.

Sam dropped the wrist like is burned him.

"Could you…whisper? Please," Sam asked quietly. "And would you stop making it so cold?"

"Of course," the devil whispered back with an indulgent smile.

Sam hadn't realized he had been shivering, but noticed when he stopped. He became aware of the drops of water falling from his hair and onto his bare shoulders and back. He became aware that he was talking to Lucifer, in the flesh, from a motel bathtub. He became aware that Dean would be very,_ very_ pissed.

"You know, we second-based it in your noggin yesterday Sam. No need to be bashful now." He said, apparently in response to Sam's expression.

"What did you _do_?" Sam hissed.

"I borrowed a bit of juice from you, then helped with your pest problem, just like we agreed." He explained. Lucifer pushed off of the sink and stood up straight, folding his arms.

"And then?" Sam pressed.

"And then I raised Nick out of Hell. I think with our little connection, Sam, that his body will last quite a bit longer this time." He added, looking appreciative.

"Define 'longer,'" Sam said hesitantly.

"Oh, you know, as long as _you_ last."

…..

Lucifer had agreed not to be around for the rest of the day.

Dean had woken up as Sam had gotten out of the bathroom, swearing profusely and demanding coffee. Cas had obligingly prepared some, and Dean had stared angrily at Sam.

In fact, he still was.

"What do you want me to say, Dean?"

"Well it's a bit late now, but I wish you'd said 'no.'" His brother retorted angrily.

"And what? Let us die?" Sam asked, frustrated once more.

"Yes. Potentially. Whichever option doesn't involve a deal with the fucking devil." He replied. "And where is the son of a bitch now?"

Sam wasn't certain, and he shrugged to indicate as much. No need to say that he knew where Lucifer had been ten minutes ago. Castiel looked over his shoulder at Sam, his glare accusatory. He said nothing, and Dean didn't notice.

"And just how much of your 'power' did he borrow, Sam?" Dean demanded.

Sam considered his reply, though he honestly didn't know the answer. "Well, enough to affect the real world, I guess."

Dean punched a fist into his mattress, startling both Sam and Castiel. "Damnit! This is the second time you've let the devil loose, Sam!" He yelled.

And that was quite enough of that. "Yeah Dean, I did break the sixty-sixth seal. Do you remember who broke the first? Maybe you forgot that I jumped into the cage to put Lucifer back, and I did _not_ bring him back up this time. _Cas_ took me out of Hell, _you_ insisted that Death put my soul back in, and _Cas_ took his wall down. How the Hell is that my fault?" He shouted angrily. "I'm tired of you blaming me for everyone else's mistakes!"

That seemed to leave Dean searching for words. After a while, he quietly said "but you were still willing to bargain with the devil."

"Yeah Dean, yeah I was. And nothing bad has happened yet," he replied.

"So when it does?" His brother demanded.

"When it does we'll deal with it. Like we always do."

**Well, there ends my spurt of rapid updates. I'm not able to update for the rest of the week, but please look forward to a new chapter next weekend.**


	5. Wrapped Around Your Finger

**Chapter 5: Wrapped Around your Finger**

**Warnings: Sexuality, mild language**

**Pairings: Lucifer/Sam (finally!)**

**Spoilers: Season 7, episode 16**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Sorry I've been away, but here's the quickest update I could manage.**

Dean had been pissed. Really pissed. He still was. He refused to let Sam do anything by himself, or to leave him alone for a second. Cas kept his eye on Sam whenever Dean couldn't, but to his credit he never told Dean anything else. Of course, maybe he didn't _know_ anything else.

Sam saw no more of Lucifer during that time. Seventeen days, four states, and two cases passed by.

The silence terrified Sam. Knowing what the devil was doing seemed like the smartest course of action, for one thing. After a while, though, he admitted to himself that he was curious about Lucifer. The devil had more or less done everything Sam had asked of him, and so far had done nothing to get the apocalypse back on track. There were even fewer demon omens than after Crowley had promised to avoid the brothers.

So Sam decided to call for the devil while he dreamt.

"Hello Sam," Lucifer said, stepping up from behind him. Sam turned and looked over his shoulder. In this dream, Lucifer wore a dark grey suit, black shirt, and red tie. He crossed his arms and watched Sam patiently. Sam was seated cross-legged on the grass in a field. It was a clear, early summer night, and the moon was brighter than was naturally possible.

Sam wasn't sure what to say. He admittedly hadn't thought it through. "Um. Hi," he replied stupidly.

"How are you doing?" The question sounded…sincere, rather than sarcastic or amused.

"I'm…I could be better. Dean doesn't believe that you're not manipulating me," he replied with a sigh.

Lucifer crouched in front of him, head tilted and eyes searching. "What do you believe?" He asked.

Sam blinked. "I'm not sure," he said, looking away.

"Sam, my current intentions are to learn more about you. So much of who you really are came out while I played with you in the cage, and it's worth watching. I already explained to you that this vessel needs you to stick around, and as lovely as it was to get into your skin, I'm content to watch from in here. Understand?"

He didn't. He really didn't. This was a very different Lucifer from the one from two years ago. He was acting too genuine. Too open. It was unsettling.

"What will that entail?" Sam asked after he sorted through what the devil had said.

Lucifer stood with a sigh, tilting his head to stare at the imaginary stars. "I don't know yet." After a long silence, his gaze dropped down to Sam again. "I want you to trust me," he said as he had a dozen times before. "I understand that harming your brother and his groupie would hinder that. If you don't believe anything else, you can understand that much."

Sam moved to stand up, and Lucifer held out his hand. Sam looked down at the devil, who in Nick's form was half a foot shorter than he. "What if I _don't_ trust you?" He asked.

"Well, as much as I'd like you to, it isn't necessary. I'm not looking to be a part of the Scooby Gang. Just having a little fun."

"I've been messed with my whole life, and apparently it's all been _your_ fault. So forgive me if your idea of fun doesn't reassure me. I don't want anything to do with you either way," Sam snapped, leaning in to loom over Lucifer.

"Then why am I here Sam?" He asked, cocking his head. "Because if I had to be honest, I'd say I see a trend." Lucifer smiled.

"What trend?" Sam demanded.

"Seems you don't care about doing what you shouldn't. Maybe you even like it?" He replied, stepping closer.

"Every choice I've made, I've tried to keep people safe. Every single one." Sam's voice was an angry hiss.

"Right. So isn't there a difference between what you _should_ do and what you _must_ do? Not according to your brother, but according to you."

Sam blinked. "Maybe."

"And what about when there's a difference between what you _should_ do and what you _want_ to do?" He stepped closer, smirking up at Sam. "If there's no one to get hurt, what's the harm in being naughty?"

Sam twitched, moving back several feet. "What the Hell are you doing?" The hunter demanded.

"Trying to gain an appreciation for this limiting flesh everyone seems to prize so highly." He followed Sam with another step, and ran a hand slowly down the inside of Sam's thigh. An impatient, tingling heat followed where the devil's hand was sliding, and Sam found himself paralyzed.

"Really Sam, I'm paying attention to only you for the time being. Aren't you _obligated_ to distract the devil? That seems like morality 101." He had that subdued smirk on his face, as usual. But beyond that lazy expression, Sam could see a hint of the millennia that Lucifer had lived through. There was a keen intelligence that the man knew he should be wary of.

However, Sam's mind was beginning to wander as much as the hand now making its way back up his thigh. Lucifer pointedly ran a finger up the fly of Sam's jeans, his nail clicking along every tooth of the zipper.

The hunter felt his heart begin to hammer in his ears, and could feel his torso warming.

"What will it be, Sam?" Lucifer cooed, wrapping his other arm around the man's waist and pulling himself closer.

Sam frowned, trying to focus as cold hands somehow set his nerves on fire. There was just something about the feeling that seemed…_right_. Finding that the rational part of his brain didn't seem to be responding, Sam leaned forward to bite Lucifer at the delightful arch where his neck met his shoulder. The angel let out a groan that quickly became a laugh.

"That's what I thought."

Sam sucked and bit and licked at that neck, pulling himself closer and running his hands over the angel's body, one through his short hair and the other under his shirt. He impatiently yanked at the tie keeping Lucifer's shirt collar in place, slowly exploring the pale line of a collarbone.

After a while he managed to notice that the angel was doing little other than calmly exploring with his hands, and just _watching_. The contrast made Sam suddenly very uncomfortable. Specifically, it made him want to work for a reaction. He slid his hand from Lucifer's hair and placed it just behind one ear, pulling him forward into a violent, needy, hateful kiss.

And damn, did the devil reciprocate. The feeling was otherworldly. Of course there was that rush of human passion that came with that sort of kiss. But Sam had the vague memory of fire surrounding him, and of ice running through his veins, and of the power this son of a bitch had but was withholding.

Sam pulled back after a long while. He looked down, panting, at the smug angel before him. "Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lucifer asked as he glanced down and laughed. "Except literally, of course."

The hunter stared back, head swimming. He had the rising feeling of regret and horror that was just a little too familiar to him lately, and it was turning the numb tingle in his mind to a panicked roar.

The devil gave him another lazy smile, though there was a touch of surprise and confusion in his tone that Sam thought he might be imagining. "Yes, we may need to have more quality time from now on."

**Still on the right track? I hope so, because the Sammifer has begun …and I suspect the rating will go up in a chapter or two. **

**Also, out of curiosity, a poll: what is your favourite Supernatural pairing? (If Sammifer, please also state your second favourite?)**

**Thanks again for reading!**


	6. For What it's Worth

**Chapter 6: For What it's Worth**

**Warnings: Very mild language and violence**

**Pairings: Dean/Castiel**

**Spoilers: Up to season 7, episode 15**

**Well hello again! Another decently quick update for y'all. Thanks so much for your reviews; they really do mean a lot and make me want to keep writing this. Also, most of you said you like Destiel most, so I'm popping a little bit of interaction for them into this chapter. And a little bit of something else…it should be packed with plot. Finally, I realized I've been saying that spoilers are up to episode 16, which keen fans will know isn't actually out yet, haha. So disregard my mess-up. Anyways, enjoy!**

Dean could tell something was up. Little of what Sam did was a mystery to him, though _why_ he did what he did could sometimes be baffling. Dean had watched his brother be irritable, distracted, and skittish for two days now. That was dangerous in their line of work, but what really bothered Dean was what that behavior meant—something had changed. Something had changed with Lucifer.

"Dean, for the last time, I'm fine," Sam insisted as he flopped onto a motel bed.

"I'm sure. And even if that's true, how long will you be fine? Sam, if anything's changed, we all need to know. We have to be ready for anything that's coming." He said. It was hard to talk to someone as stubborn as Sam. Much to Dean's frustration, Sam was rarely willing to admit his plans to his brother.

"Sam, look. I know it took convincing, and I was never keen on it, but I agreed that you needed to jump into the cage with him, right? Whatever crazy, deadly thing is happening, you can tell me about it. You know you can trust me, so just say it."

Sam's gaze lowered to the floor, and he seemed to consider his next words. "Yeah, I know. I've made bad choices, and I know that, and I want to be able to tell you whenever something's up, because then we deal with it and I can't just get sucked in to more crap. But I just can't tell you this yet."

"Then when will you be able to? After the shit hits the fan again?" The older brother demanded.

" Soon, Dean, I promise." He whispered. "I just need to figure it out for myself."

….

"You're worried," Castiel observed from the foot of Dean's bed. The angel was getting better, but he still felt the need to state things that would be obvious to a person. Sometimes his lack of understanding was funny. Cute, even. Right now it was irritating. However, Dean was trying to be patient, as he'd promised Cas he would.

"Yeah, I am." He replied with a sigh. "The devil is haunting my brother after escaping from Hell in a way no one thought was possible. And as glad as I am that you're back Cas, I don't think it's a coincidence that you don't know how you're breathing right now."

The angel lowered his eyes guiltily. Dean assumed this meant that he had had similar concerns.

"I have no memories from when I was gone, Dean. However, I have a clear recollection of my actions just before. I made a deal with the king of Hell. I let countless creatures suffer for the fulfillment of that deal. I betrayed you and your brother. I used the souls of the lost to bring war to heaven. And of course, I proclaimed myself the new God." The angel sighed, looking as tired as Dean had ever seen him. "I don't _remember _where I was, Dean, but I have no illusions about it."

"You think you were in Hell," Dean realized, his voice nearly a whisper.

"I'm more or less certain about it, yes."

"But you're an angel. You only did all that so Raphael couldn't start the apocalypse back up," Dean protested.

"I am an angel, but so is Lucifer. And like him, I may have paved the way to Hell with those good intentions." Castiel was staring at the floor now, sorrowful. A long, silent moment passed before the angel turned his gaze back to Dean "I'm so sorry for what I did to you and your brother. And for what I tried to do," he said softly.

"I know Cas. You already told us, and we believe you." Dean moved from where he had been leaning against the headboard of his bed to slide next to Castiel. "You're back. That's what we care about," the hunter added, leaning around to place a gentle kiss on the angel's forehead.

His vessel's sharp blue eyes flicked up to stare at Dean with an emotion he thought was closest to confusion.

"You're always so surprised when you're forgiven, Cas," Dean said with a kind smile. His own gaze dropped down to the angel's mouth, which hung slightly open in the first attempts to reply. Dean didn't wait for him to argue, and instead leaned slowly in to kiss his angel's lips. The kiss was soft. Careful. Hesitant.

They pulled back, and Dean stared at Castiel, searching for an indication that the angel believed him. "Look, we'll figure it out, okay? You don't remember. I trust you," he said. "I just don't want this shit to go South."

Cas regarded him with confusion for a moment, then seemed to decide that Dean hadn't meant his last statement literally. "As soon as I know anything, you will too." The angel promised.

…..

The leviathans had caught them with their pants down. Again.

Apparently Dick Roman wasn't happy with them following him, and had laid out a fake ghost case as a trap. As it stood now, they were in a house that had once belonged to a human. Now the leviathan who wore the man's form was monologuing at the brothers, with Castiel unconscious—or maybe dead, Sam thought grimly—on the floor where he had been tossed.

"You wriggling, rotting, disgusting creatures," it said with a laugh. "And God thought you were somehow better than us. More worthy. Less likely to destroy the world you were put on. Cute, isn't it? Forgive us if our expectations of you were higher than they should've been. You make good snacks though."

Dean rolled his eyes, which were squinted against the blood running down his face. "Really, everything that wants to kill us insists on torturing us with this crap first."

The leviathan moved impossibly fast, slamming Dean against the wall by the neck, silencing him and fixing his face with an angry sneer.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, pushing off from the corner of the wall he had been braced against.

Dean tried to speak or fight, but each action was as useless as the gurgling in his throat. He kicked against the walls and the leviathan's legs, clawed at his hand, but was totally ineffective.

"Any last words?" The beast asked. All Den could do was choke in reply. "Ahh, poetic," it laughed. Then its head split into that huge, disgusting mouth, tongues flicking about and splattering Dean with something he hoped was _just_ saliva.

Then it roared, and turned away.

Its face burned with the borax that Sam had thrown on it. The huge mouth roared, turning to smash Sam to the floor, drooling and screeching incoherently at him. It pulled its head back, ready to snap down, when its head rocked suddenly to the side.

The leviathan's human face was back, fuming and snarling. "_What the fuck did you do!"_ It demanded of the brothers. They were speechless, looking at each other with shock.

"That's quite enough of that," a man's voice said calmly. Dean could feel his anger flare, mixed with a considerable amount of horror.

"An angel," the beast laughed. "Don't you see what I've done so easily to your comrade?"

"Oh, not so easily, from what I saw. But Castiel isn't my comrade, and I'm not just any angel." Lucifer replied, stepping slowly between Sam and the leviathan. "You know, I almost pity you. There are 7 billion humans in the world, and you stumbled across the only one I am interested in preserving."

"Is that right? And what do you think you can do to stop me?" The leviathan asked with another laugh.

Lucifer looked down at Sam for a moment, eyes considering. "Well, I was just planning to maim you a bit. You creatures were always so troublesome to kill." He replied. "But what would you prefer, Sammy?"

"You can kill this bastard?" Sam asked, sitting up with a wince.

Lucifer paused. "Yes, I can," he replied slowly.

"Then do it!" Sam insisted. Dean's eyes flicked between the three, trying to catch up. Lucifer was protecting Sam. He was his vessel, so that made sense. What he was stuck on was the fact that the devil was consulting his brother on his actions. And of course, the thing he was really going to have explained to him later is why Sam seemed so unsurprised.

"It will take resources that I don't have an unlimited supply of at the moment. Are you sure you want that?" The angel pressed.

"Kill it," Sam demanded.

"Alright," Lucifer sighed. "Come with me, Princess," he said, reaching out a hand and placing it on the leviathan's shoulder. They were gone a second later.

**Well, I seem to enjoy pissing Dean off, don't I? Hope you guys have as much fun with this chapter as I did. It was a tiny change of pace. As always, reviews are appreciated. I shouldn't be too long with the new chapter.**


	7. Crazy on You

**Chapter 7: Crazy on You**

**Pairings: Sam/Lucifer**

**Warnings: **

**Spoilers: To season 7, episode 15**

Sam and Dean had been exhausted when they finally made it back to the motel. That hadn't mattered though, as Castiel had still been unconscious and they had needed to get the fuck out of Dodge. They'd carried him back, packed their things, and driven. They took back roads, moving steadily South until they were certain they were in the most random, normal town they could reach with a single night's driving. That ended up being in southern Utah.

They had collapsed in the motel, sleeping far longer than they should have. When they woke, Cas had been up as well. He had asked Sam what had happened, and the younger brother had retold the story in as much detail as he could, all the while flinching whenever Dean twitched or sharply inhaled.

"And he did it," Cas said, disbelieving.

"Um, yeah, presumably."

The truth was that they didn't see Lucifer for days. He didn't return to check in, and there were no signs that he had done what he'd promised—though of course, there likely wouldn't _be _anysigns. So they were left waiting, hiding in a motel in Utah, until they heard from the devil or were found by a leviathan. Things were tense.

After several maddening—and somewhat boring—days locked in their motel room, Sam decided he was far too tired of not being clued in. When he went to sleep, he called for Lucifer in his dream, and proceeded to wait.

The mere act of calling an angel made his dream a lot more lucid and coherent. It wasn't a regular, foggy dream where events occur and you simply accept them. It wasn't passive. That meant that he noticed time passing, and as he sat on a park bench on a misty afternoon in his mind, Sam began to worry that the devil wasn't coming.

"Uhh, Lucifer? Could you come tell me what's up?" He called again, for good measure.

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," came a voice from behind Sam. "Y'know, eventually."

Sam spun. The angel's face—or rather, his vessel's face—looked tired and grey. The sores that had slowly spread over his face years ago seemed to be returning.

"I thought you said your vessel would hold up for as long as I'm alive?" Sam said, confused.

"That's right. But you asked me for something exhausting, so I'm temporarily putting my attention elsewhere. Nick will heal eventually," he replied.

"And how…is that going? I mean, how hard can it be for you? You snapped your fingers and exploded Cas. Are leviathans that much worse?" Sam asked carefully.

"It isn't a quick process, Sam. Leviathans weren't made to be destructible. My father learned his lesson after creating them, of course, but he made this line a pain in the ass to get rid of. In fact, they can't be _killed _so much as erased." He explained.

"And how to you do that?" Sam persisted.

"It's a bit of a process. I won't bore us with the details. But I'm glad you called me, Sammy, because I need to ask you a favour."

Sam frowned. "And what's that?"

"Well, I need to borrow a bit more juice from you," he replied. The angel stepped forward, staring intently up at Sam. "I think you know what that means."

"You pull it past what's left of the wall in my head, don't you? So it'll break down even sooner."

Lucifer nodded.

"And will I go crazy?" He asked. He was terrified, certain that he had been backed into a corner by Lucifer and that no good option remained to him. He had the feeling that he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and his next step would send him falling.

"I'm not sure. But I wouldn't say that you endured so much more than your brother did during his vacation in the pit." The angel replied after a long pause.

Sam frowned. "What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me that you and Michael didn't play volleyball with my soul in that cage?" He demanded.

Lucifer studied his face, expression showing a hint of actual concern. "Not for the entire time," he answered after a while.

Sam felt his jaw drop. "What does that—"

"It would be good if you made a decision soon, Sam," he interjected, expression changing. "Otherwise I will have to start this process again."

"Oh yeah? If you need me so badly, then you're going to tell me what you mean about Hell." He said, crossing his arms defiantly. It didn't occur to him at the time that antagonizing the devil in his own brain might not be a great idea. He would realize this later.

Lucifer seemed to be losing patience. "You asked me to kill the leviathan. I'm not at full strength yet. You can decide whether you still want it dead," he reminded the hunter.

"I…will it take the whole wall down?" Sam asked, deciding this was the most important consideration.

"I doubt it."

Only marginally reassuring. Sam sighed, and looked at the devil for a long moment. "And what would you do with it if I said no?"

"Take its head off and put it somewhere else. The band-aid solution. I know humans are fans of those, but it will literally come back to bite you in the ass somewhere down the line." He replied, tone serious and impatient. "Make a choice now, Sammy. I'm done waiting."

Sam looked at the ground, considering. "Do you _want _me to go crazy?"

"No." He insisted, starting to sound truly irritated.

And for some reason, Sam believed him. Mostly it seemed to him that if the devil wanted to take anything from inside Sam's head, he could do it without permission. And he knew so little about leviathans that he believed it could be necessary.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Take what you need."

Lucifer nodded, his expression apologetic. "See you soon, Sam."

Then the devil disappeared, and Sam began to remember.

….

_Sam had been in the cage with Michael and Lucifer. Adam had, too. Mostly they had ignored Adam, and Sam was glad about that. No, Adam had not been their preferred chew-toy. Sam had._

_He had gotten them in the cage. They had been itching to start the apocalypse and Sam had pulled them out of it within seconds. Then they had been stuck, in a box, staring at each other. And Sam had been in the way. _

_Michael had been blunt in his punishment. It seemed obvious that he had never needed to use anything but brute force in his dealings with others. Sam had dealt with pain before, and while Michael's beatings were more than he'd ever dreamed of, they were still just pain. Loud, simple, manageable pain._

_Lucifer had been more inventive._

_The only blessing Sam had received was that the archangels were unwilling to cooperate for too long at a time—and when they'd fought, he could step back for a moment. _

_They had rarely worked at Adam, because they hadn't gotten to tear as many chunks out of Sam as they would have individually. And of course, Adam hadn't been guilty. He was the only one of them who didn't deserve to be in Hell. So Sam considered it the tiniest ray of justice that his half brother was generally spared from the horrific tortures the archangels so passionately inflicted on the older of the two. _

_There had been no privacy. No rest. Nothing to hope for or to cling to but trying to distract the angels and hoping that Dean wouldn't be stupid enough to try to open the cage again._

_With those two fragile anchors, Sam had managed to resist every single day. It wasn't that he was stronger than Dean. Maybe it was just that he was more hopeful. Or stupid. But every day, Michael and Lucifer had moved to rip at his soul. And every day he had stepped up and met them, a thin barrier between the monsters and Adam. _

_Yet after months of that routine, one day Lucifer had merely stood back to watch._

**Well, I'm likely making a huge mistake by describing any part of Hell, but hey. **

**I also realize that this is a chapter composed entirely of exposition, and for that I apologize. For more action (or if you're impatient for the actual slash in this slashfic), you can always check out my freshly completed oneshot, Illuminated. **

**/shameless self promotion**

**New chapter will likely be done by the end of the week.**


	8. Thunderstruck

**Chapter 8: Thunderstruck **

**Pairings: None, really**

**Warnings: Mild language**

**Spoilers: This is getting redundant, I think. I'll just update when the new episode is out?**

**Thanks again to anyone who's read this far, and an extra thanks to those who've reviewed! Please enjoy!**

Sam woke up in a sweat, memories of Hell still licking at his mind. He had had flashes of images which he could piece into a coherent whole, but even as he cautiously reviewed them, the floodgates in his mind allowed no more leaks through. He sighed with subdued relief; things never went right in the long run, but they _were_ going right at the moment. That was an okay start to the day.

Dean and Cas weren't in the room, and that was unusual. Sam stood and went to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see outside. It was cloudy and still. There was basically no weather at all. He turned, quickly scanning to room for a note, car keys, anything that would give him a hint at where his overprotective brother had gone.

Satisfied that there were no clues in their room, the hunter went to the bathroom for a drink and to wash his face, which was still beaded uncomfortably with sweat.

A sound like rustling cloth from behind him caused Sam to turn, ready to ask Castiel where he'd been. The words died on his lips, of course, as Castiel was not the angel who had appeared. "Hi Sammy," Lucifer said softly. His shoulders were slouched and his expression was tired.

"What the Hell happened to you?" Sam asked.

The angel stumbled over to the bed and let himself fall heavily. "I killed the leviathan," he replied simply.

"You never did tell me what that entails," the hunter replied, not feeling particularly sympathetic for the devil's current state, especially after his more recent burst of memories.

Lucifer sighed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "It involves pinning it with an archangel's blade, and opening the gate to purgatory on it, among other things." He explained irritably.

"On it, like…"

"Drawing the sigil on it, yes. It tears the beast out of existence," Lucifer replied.

"But there wasn't an eclipse last night," Sam realized out loud.

"No, there wasn't. Which meant the whole process was exhausting. So if you'd kindly _stop _speaking for a minute," he said with a quick glare in Sam's direction.

Sam's lip twitched into a little frown, but he sighed and walked to the other bed, perching tensely on the edge of it and watching Lucifer intently. Several minutes passed, with Sam's own breathing all he could hear. There was a strange, tense calm in the room, and Sam wasn't sure that he had ever felt this sort of sensation before.

He didn't have time to investigate the feeling though, as the sound of a key scraping into the lock on the room's door broke the silence. Sam's head snapped up at the sound, and he began to panic.

"_Get out_," he hissed at Lucifer.

"I can't, unless I walk out," was the very tired reply. The angel hadn't moved at all since sitting on the bed, and he sounded slightly concerned. Maybe it was because if he couldn't even zap out of there, he'd have a lot of trouble fighting Cas if it came to that.

Before he realized what he was doing, Sam stood, stepping between the entrance and Lucifer. Dean swung the door open, pulling his key out of the lock with one hand and holding a bag of take out from a local burger joint in the other.

Then Dean saw Lucifer. The keys and food dropped in a second, and he had a gun whipped out in the next. "Sammy, move," he demanded.

"Dean, hold on a second," he began.

"What, are you going to defend Satan now? Move or I'll shoot him through your shoulder."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," he replied with ice in his tone, and Sam knew it was true.

The younger Winchester took a deep, shaky inhale, but he stayed where he was between Dean and Lucifer. The edges of his vision flickered with images of Hell, and he thought for the briefest moment that he could smell rot and sulfur and burnt flesh. He shrugged them off.

The mattress behind him creaked, and before Sam could react, Dean fired. Sam knew what to expect from a bullet to a large muscle group. A cold jolt at first, which surprised but also gave false calm. Then the burning waves of pain as the body realized it had been punctured and that there was a foreign object displacing delicate tissue.

But that wasn't what Sam felt. Instead, it must have been what Lucifer felt.

The angel roared and bent over with the pain, pushing a hand to the wound above his eye. He glared at Dean, teeth bared and face running with blood. And with no warning at all he dashed forward in a blur, pushing Dean against the room's door by the neck, though not before the older Winchester had emptied three more bullets into his chest and shoulder.

"What the fuck was that, Dean? A bullet can't kill me, but it _can_ kill your beloved brother." The devil's voice was a hiss through his teeth. Dean couldn't respond, as his breath was being forcibly blocked. He still managed to mouth 'fuck you,' however.

Sam rushed over, grabbing Lucifer's shoulder and pulling back.

A human shouldn't have been able to drag him off, so when Lucifer stepped away from Dean, it was all his decision. Sam was at a loss for what to do, because it seemed to him that the devil had just saved him from his brother.

"Would've just hit his arm," Dean choked out with a cough. "Worth it to shoot you in your smug face."

Lucifer didn't reply, but neither did his glare relax. Dean took several moments to breathe before getting back to business. "Cas, get your ass down here," he coughed.

A rustling sound whipped out of nowhere as a second angel descended into the tiny motel room. "Lucifer," Castiel said with surprise, reaching into his coat for his blade.

"Could everyone just calm the Hell down?" Sam demanded, stepping again in front of Lucifer. "He isn't going to do anything. If he wanted to kill any of us, he could."

"Doesn't look that way to me," Dean interjected.

"Then he would have waited until he could before coming here. Same goes for anything else you think he'll do. Whether he's here or anywhere else, he won't hurt us." He argued.

"The chance that he won't kill the three of us at the moment doesn't mean that we shouldn't kill _him_, Sam," Castiel said, drawing out a shimmering archangel's blade.

That was more difficult to argue against. Sam opened and closed his mouth several times as he searched for an appropriate reason not to kill the devil. "He knows how to destroy leviathans. He killed the last one," Sam said finally.

"How," Castiel asked Lucifer directly. The devil said nothing. "You will answer me, or I will force the answer from you."

This statement made Satan laugh. "_You'll_ torture _me_? Is that what you mean to say?" Castiel faltered at this.

"Dean, he's only helped us. Even if we don't trust him, he's only been useful so far," Sam said, trying to be practical.

"Right, so what, we keep him around until he beefs back up and starts killing people?"

Sam frowned. "I seem to remember Cas killed quite a few people a couple months ago."

"That was the leviathans in him. Cas is our friend, Sam. Don't compare him to the fucking devil," Dean growled.

"Does it matter if he's the devil, Dean? This isn't black and white like Sunday school. God's an absentee asshole, angels kill each other, so why can't the devil do something good?" Sam demanded.

"It isn't about what he is! It's about what he does! What he wants!" Dean shouted. "Damnit Sam, you're making excuses for the guy who _admitted_ he wants to wipe every human off the Earth. What has he been telling you that made you this crazy?"

Sam was speechless. He didn't feel like he was being lied to, but it never feels like you're being lied to. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more he knew he wasn't making any sense. It didn't matter that Lucifer wanted God and the heavenly host to go down burning; what mattered was that he hated humanity and he had the power to do something about it.

The weight of a hand rested on his shoulder, and Lucifer stepped forward to be beside the younger Winchester. "You trust me because your soul and my grace have been muddled together. I _cannot_ lie to you. I think you know that."

It was true. But by no means did an inability to lie make Lucifer trustworthy or benevolent. So why did Sam feel he should protect him?

"Because we're connected Sammy," the angel said with an apologetic smile.

"Okay, you keep saying that," Dean said irritably "and I know you think you and my brother are butt-buddies for life, but we're not buying it."

"Sam, remember how I told you Nick here won't start to rot until you die?" Lucifer asked Sam, ignoring Dean's input.

The younger Winchester nodded, frowning. "Yeah," he replied carefully.

"You seem to think that's one-sided."

Sam's mouth hung open as he realized what that meant, exactly.

"Enough of this crap. Cas," Dean said, and the angel stepped forward, raising his blade.

"Cas! Dean! Stop it," Sam said, raising his hands and stepping into the way. "If you kill him…I die too."

**Hope you enjoyed! I shouldn't be too long with the new chapter.**


	9. With or Without You

**Chapter 9: With or Without You**

**Warnings: Language, brief mention of non-con, I guess.**

They were all silent for a while, though Dean recovered first. "It's a shitty deal, but if you die, Cas can just bring you ba—what, Cas?" Dean stopped himself short as the angel shook his head.

"If they are truly bonded in that way and we kill Lucifer, the shock from his grace will completely erase Sam's soul from this—or any—plane of existence." He replied apologetically.

If Dean was right about Lucifer's intentions, it was one human or 7 billion at stake. The reasonable thing to do would be to let Sam go, and mourn him after the devil had died. But Dean was a Winchester, and 'reasonable' rarely intermingled with decisions about family.

"Then we'll find a way to separate them first," he said.

Castiel sighed. "Dean, I'm not sure that's possible," he replied.

"Right. You're not sure. So maybe there's a way."

"Yes," Cas conceded. "Perhaps." Everyone in the room could hear how unlikely it was from the tone in the angel's voice, but no one mentioned it.

A tiny yet loud part of Sam didn't want Dean or Cas to find a way. He felt a little wave of nausea at the thought. A nagging, annoying part of his brain pushed forward the memory of Lucifer's words to him almost two years ago; it was like they were two halves made whole. It was like he finally had the piece that had kept him dissatisfied with its absence his whole life. The feeling grew every time Lucifer drew power from him, and though that knowledge should have thrown him into a fit of panic…it just _didn't_.

He didn't want to be a part of Lucifer. Couldn't stand the thought of being overwhelmed by him. But as he stood there, watching as his friend and his brother argued about how to rip Satan away from him, Sam couldn't help feeling that they were, in fact, supposed to be even closer. Codependent. Entangled.

And there was no way in Hell that Dean, or Castiel, or anyone on the planet would agree with him. If that should have been a hint that he might be making a mistake, Sam didn't care to notice.

"Okay, you know what?" Dean said, breaking Sam's train of thought. "I'm gonna talk to you" he said, pointing to Lucifer "Sam, Cas, out."

"Dean, I don't think—" Castiel began.

"I'm not gonna shoot him again or anything. Just talk," the older Winchester interrupted.

And while Sam didn't believe Dean actually intended to just talk, he also didn't think his brother could do a lot of damage in five minutes. "Fine. Whatever. You," he said to Lucifer "don't kill him. Don't hurt him. Don't even yell at him." The devil nodded with an indulgent smile.

"And Dean," Sam said, turning his gaze to his older brother as he opened the door "just don't do anything stupid."

The door clicked closed, and after a long moment, Sam's footsteps could be heard moving away. A second later, the sound of rushing air announced that Castiel had also left them. Dean stared the devil down for what felt like hours, but was likely no longer than two minutes.

"Well, what did you want to chat about, Dean?" Lucifer finally asked with a disinterested tone. His face was still covered with blood from the bullet wound that had closed itself just minutes ago, and his shirt was even more stained.

"I thought we could start with how you seem to be intent on raping my brother," was Dean's growled reply.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and slid his hands in the back pockets of his faded Levis. "Please, if I ever got naughty with your brother, it would be consensual." The devil said, consciously choosing to take the statement literally.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Maybe because it would bother you even more if Sammy liked it. Maybe because I think he would make a better pitcher. I'll leave it to your imagination," he answered with a friendly smile.

"My brother is being an idiot right now, but he would never let the devil inside him, in either way. Even if he wanted to, I'd never let him," Dean spat. Even as he said it, however, Dean remembered the words he had heard repeating in his head every day and night since their father had died; eventually he would have to save Sam or kill him. Never had those words applied more directly than they did right now.

"So I want you to tell me, plain and simple, what you plan to do with Sam. Because _believe_ me when I tell you that I would rather kill him with my bare hands than see him used by you," the hunter said.

The devil stepped over to one of the seats at the little table in their motel room. He sat, propping and elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. He seemed to be honestly considering what Dean had said.

The older brother found it easy to see how the average person could forget that this entity was actually the devil. He understood how a stranger might find Lucifer so mundane that they would drop their guard.

But Dean never would. Never _could_. He had been there when humans and demons had been sacrificed to raise death. He remembered watching as pagan gods had been dropped easily, and remembered jumping the bodies of more to escape. He clearly recalled the sound of Cas exploding and the crunch of Bobby's neck when he was killed without a word. And he would never, ever forget when Lucifer had used his baby brother to slowly beat the life out of him, or that Lucifer had enjoyed it.

So while even Sam might argue with him that the devil wasn't pure evil, just as it seemed God wasn't purely good, Dean wouldn't listen. Because the scruffy, blood-covered man in front of him was the angel who had fucked up their entire family, and nothing in the world could ever make him trustworthy.

"Why would you bother asking me that question, Dean? I've used Sam to get to my current state, and I'll keep using him. More importantly, he'll keep asking me to use him. And with me and Sammy joined at the hip, he doesn't need your permission for anything," Lucifer replied, looking genuinely irritated.

"What the Hell do you mean by that?" Dean demanded.

Lucifer leaned forward. "I mean that whenever Sam wants to, he's welcome to take his power _back_. And knowing your baby brother, he _will _want to."

"If you're trying to make me trust you, I gotta say this really isn't helping," Dean said, raising his gun and firing into the devil's face again.

Lucifer's head snapped back with the force of the bullet. His chair rocked ever so slightly, and he hissed a long, angry exhale. One eye was closed completely against the new stream of blood, but the other glared fiercely at the hunter. The devil wiped his eye with a shirt sleeve once the wound closed, but otherwise didn't move.

"And what was that about?" Lucifer asked, rage leaking ever so slightly into his usually calm tone.

"Just checking to see how well trained you are," was the reply.

"Better than you, apparently."

"Do you listen to everything Sammy tells you to do?"

"When I want to."

And suddenly the exchange got very old. "_What do you want from him, you son of a bitch?" _Dean demanded, raising the pistol yet again.

Lucifer looked at the gun like it was the oddest thing he'd ever seen. "I want everything from him, Dean. And you know that he wants everything from me. Or at least, he's starting to. I'm having trouble getting you dumb animals to understand this, but Sam and I belong together. It's destiny. Biology. He's_ mine_."

"I don't give two fucks about your destiny, or whatever the Hell claim you think you have on my brother. I _will_ find a way to rip you two apart. I have every day until then to think about how I'm going to make you pay for the shit you've done to the people I love. And if you know me, you know how motivated I am to do just that," Dean said, standing over the devil and hissing the last of his words.

"I look forward to it, Dean," Lucifer said with a vicious smile that sent a shiver through the hunter. "Until then, you know where to find me; spooning with your brother's soul." And with that familiar sound of whipping air, he disappeared.

**More exposition! Damn it! I'm going to move this plot right along, I promise. Next chapter. Pinky swear. Maybe even the beginnings of some smut?**

**Until then, please review and tell me what you think. Any tips or things you want to see are super appreciated. **


	10. Can't Get no Satisfaction

**Chapter 10: Can't Get no Satisfaction**

**Warnings: Sexuality. We've gotten to the beginnings of smut. **_**Rating has gone up**_**!**

**Pairings: Lucifer/Sam**

**Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you guys' reviews lately? Because the comments for the last chapter were super flattering 0.0 Thank you so so so much!**

They were still laying low from the leviathans. Dean insisted on doing so 'because they had no way to kill the ugly bastards.' Sam complied because as far as he could tell Lucifer wasn't back up to full strength. It was a tense string of days in which Dean would stare at him like he was a monster, Sam would get irritated and call him out on it, and Dean would say that nothing was wrong in that tone he used when something was very wrong.

Sam knew better than to call Lucifer to their room, especially so soon. Still, everything the devil had told him so far seemed true and reasonable. In particular, he believed that their soul and grace were intertwined, and not only because Castiel seemed to believe it so thoroughly.

The tiny little spark of optimism Sam had felt inching its way into existence was even stronger after Dean finally admitted that he'd shot Lucifer in the face, again, and the angel had done nothing but mock him in return. He wasn't so naïve as to think that the devil was suddenly following his orders, as there was no reason for it. Instead, he understood that Lucifer really couldn't lie to him. Really did want his trust. Really believed that they were meant to equally share _something_.

Sam was truly beginning to feel the same way. It was like the default emotion from his soul was just named 'Lucifer.' He knew part of this feeling well, the part where his control would start slipping though his grip like sand. What he wasn't used to was the sense that if he just let go of the rest, he'd finally have the feeling of completion every other human seemed to have.

Therefore, it shouldn't have surprised anyone—Sam least of all—that he found himself calling for the devil in his dreams.

"It's good to see you, Sam," the devil said as he joined the hunter on a park bench in the hunter's memory of a sunny afternoon in Connersville, Indiana.

Sam didn't reply, and instead stared off into the distance in thought.

"Did you just want me to watch you brood, or…?" Lucifer asked, leaning forward so he could see the Winchester's face.

"What? No," Sam responded, shaking his head to clear it. "I just…you and Dean will always be at each others' throats if you're in the same room. It's like a law of nature. But when it's just him and me, I feel…like I'm not quite whole." The Winchester stood and began to pace a little circle, hand running through his hair in the way it tended to when he was frustrated. Lucifer stood as well, watching him.

The devil nodded, an eyebrow raised to silently say this was what he had been telling the hunter all along.

"But right now, with you here, I feel like that piece is whole, but another one is missing."

The devil's expression dropped into a frown.

"What _do_ you want, Sam? Lucifer asked him, his expression of concern and frustration as honest as Sam had ever seen on him.

"For Dean to be happy," Sam replied without hesitation.

Lucifer nodded. "And then what?"

Sam had to pause to think. "To save people," he said, deciding that was next on the list.

Another nod. "And?"

"To feel…right," he answered diplomatically, still not wanting to tell the devil how very close to slipping he actually was.

"I feel so sad for you, Sam," Lucifer told him, a look of regret in his eyes.

"What, why?" Sam asked defensively. He didn't need the devil's pity, and didn't want it either.

"Because you can't have all of those things. You can't be complete and make your brother happy. And you can't save everyone," he said, stepping forward. "You and I need each other. You can hide it from Dean for a while. You could even hide it from Castiel. But eventually, he'll know. It seems like you need to choose."

"Then I choose family. I made that mistake before, but I won't ever again. I choose Dean," Sam replied firmly.

"I see," Lucifer said pensively. "That's what you said in the pit, too."

Sam's eyebrows snapped into a betrayed frown. "What? What did you ask me in Hell?"

"I asked you a lot, Sammy. We were there for decades. But the most important thing was what you wanted. You haven't changed, after years and years of torture," he said, taking another step forward. "You'll choose your brother before you choose me." He slipped his hands behind Sam's waist, holding him.

"What are you—"

"I guess I'll have to be on my best behavior," the devil said. Contrary to that statement—at least in Sam's mind—Lucifer then proceeded to kiss him. Just like before, his skin had a cool edge to it, like he'd just come in from the snow. The unexpected feeling sent tingles right through Sam. He refused to think about how much of that sensation went straight to his crotch.

This time, it was the devil who led the way. He bit at Sam's lower lip, a wicked smile on his own. His hands searched and pressed and lingered possessively under Sam's clothes, sending those contrasting waves of heat and cold that kept the hunter's skin maddeningly sensitive to his every movement.

"What I want most, Sam, is to show my father the error of his actions," Lucifer breathed in his ear. Sam didn't respond, since his breath hitched when icy fingers plunged just a little below the waistline of his jeans. "But I have all the time in the world. What I want right _now_ is you."

Despite the connection between Satan and his vessel, despite the way his grace was wrapped comfortably around Sam's soul, the hunter felt a rush of adrenaline-tainted panic at the thought that the devil was so very focused on him, and him alone. He seemed to lose control of his life, and even his own actions, so easily. But a lack of control was something he feared more than anything. So even as the intoxicating—and unnecessarily pleasurable—surges of anxiety flared under Lucifer's touch, he decided he wanted to be the one calling the shots.

Sam's tongue pushed its way into Lucifer's mouth, earning a surprised laugh from the angel. He was more convincingly human than Castiel—far more casual, more at ease in human skin. At least, that was true at a distance. Sam had never asked Dean what getting hot and heavy with an angel was like. He really didn't want to have that conversation, and he doubted Dean would want to either.

In any case, he wasn't prepared for the little things. The tingling chill dancing along his skin, the lack of any taste other than frost in the devil's mouth, the way his hands were just a little too strong as they forced Sam closer.

Sam came up gasping, and was quickly pulled back down by a rough hand in his hair. Sam began to walk them slowly backward to the bench, letting Lucifer drop down to sit on it and planting a knee on either side of the devil so that he straddled him. He was directly above Lucifer, staring down into grey-blue eyes that watched with an inhuman balance of focus and hunger. It was as if those eyes were the hole into the pit itself. Sam was poised over them, hovering on the edge of one of the most important decisions of his life—and one of the most important ever made by a human being. No pressure or anything.

Sam dove in.

He bit at Lucifer's lips, his ear, his neck. The angel arched himself off the bench and into Sam's hips, that satisfied but hungry grin returning. There was a demanding, uncomfortable pressure in the front of his jeans at the contact that he needed to alleviate. He placed a hand on the back of the bench, and used the other to fumble at his fly. Lucifer slid his own hands along Sam's chest. He began working on the buttons of the hunter's shirt, undoing several before Sam realized what was happening.

While the devil was busy, Sam decided to undo his jeans as well. He put a hand down the resultant opening, noting with interest that the devil was wearing boxers, and that he'd finally managed to find a warm spot on Lucifer's body. He squeezed, and received a long, satisfied groan in response. Sam brought his head back down to claim Lucifer's lips. He grunted as a cold hand slipped to the front of his own boxers, finding the single button and popping them open.

"Please," he breathed, the word barely intelligible. "Lucifer."

The devil laughed and ran his hand down along the bottom of Sam's erection, then gripped and pulled hard back up its length. Sam tried to gasp, but couldn't even breathe, the feeling was so overpowering. He got the feeling Lucifer was using some kind of angel mojo to do that, because one touch anywhere, and Sam was feeling it _everywhere_. It was very much appreciated.

Lucifer slid his other hand to the back of Sam's neck, and—

Sam woke up.

To be precise, he was jolted awake as Dean shook his shoulders. "Sam, wake the Hell up," he demanded, not _quite_ yelling in Sam's face.

The younger brother groaned, closing his eyes again to block out the harsh motel light glaring at him from the ceiling.

"What is it?" Sam demanded with a groan.

"You…you were having a wet dream, man," Dean growled.

Sam's heart rate increased again, if that was even possible. "Okay," Sam replied noncommittally.

"You said a name," he continued.

"Oh," Sam replied. There was no further need to clarify. Every unspoken word hanging between them was well understood. They were both in perfect comprehension of the fact that Dean had just performed the most monumental cock-block in human history.

.

.

**Okay, that was more fun than it should have been. Hope you guys enjoyed!**


	11. Riders on the Storm

**Chapter 11: Riders on the Storm**

**Warnings: Some language**

**Well, I just can't seem to stop updating. Especially because I finally found the plot! I promise, it begins in this chapter. **

**Please enjoy!**

Sam was in a daze the next day. He was hypersensitive to everything, and it made it very difficult to concentrate on anything. He was glad they weren't hunting, or even driving anywhere, because he was pretty sure his head would have exploded from overstimulation. He told Castiel as much when Dean finally left to buy lunch.

"And how is that affecting your hallucinations, Sam? Have they been getting worse?" He asked after listening to the hunter's very abbreviated description of the previous night.

"Um, no, actually," Sam replied, worried by the question.

Castiel's expression became confused and contemplative. "But Lucifer has approached you in your dreams, has he not? And borrowed power from your soul to suit his purposes?"

Sam resisted the urge to tell the angel that in both cases, Lucifer had asked his permission before acting. It wasn't relevant though, so he held his tongue. "Yeah, he did."

"Your visions of Hell were connected to Lucifer before, correct? Then it would seem that he has some control over what makes it past the wall in your head." Despite his statement, Cas didn't seem satisfied.

"Well, then he must be holding it back. I'm having fewer hallucinations, not more. The only ones I've had recently were when he was tired," Sam replied.

Castiel tilted his head. "You honestly believe that Lucifer isn't trying to manipulate you," he said with undisguised wonder in his voice.

He couldn't help feeling a little insulted at the remark, but it was what he should have expected. "Yeah, I do. I can actually _feel _him, in some weird way. It's like when I was his vessel, but less forceful. He could have kept me blocked out then, and I bet he could do it now too, but he hasn't. And he saved all three of us, Cas. So even if you don't want to trust him—and I get why you wouldn't—can't you at least trust me?"

The angel shook his head remorsefully when Sam had finished speaking. "No, I'm afraid I can't."

"So what would it take, then?" He demanded.

"I don't know, Sam."

…

They saw less and less of Cas, though he dropped in every few days to check in with the brothers. The war for heaven was still underway, even though the angels were temporarily distracted by the leviathans. Castiel was apparently busy making preparations for when the battle resumed fully, and it seemed that much of that preparation involved finding Balthazar's stolen weapons, and regaining the trust of his garrison. As Dean had said, there was 'a lot of ass-kissing' in the former deity's future.

Sam didn't have much of an understanding, and Castiel hadn't bothered to explain the details to him, but it seemed that heaven was structured by way of hierarchy. With God and Michael absent, the fight was to replace the highest angel. But the fight wasn't between Cas and Raphael (or whoever was replacing him). Rather, it was between two ideas of how to be most loyal to the will of their Father. Whichever side won became the new word of God, figuratively speaking. That was the way with the angels, and what Cas was looking to fix—they were absolutely obedient to authority. So while Castiel wouldn't need friends once he fought his way to the top, he did need soldiers _now_. It meant that babysitting the younger Winchester actually wasn't the most pressing thing he had going anymore.

Instead, the task fell to Dean. For his part, he acted fairly normal with Sam most of the time. The exception was right after Sam slept, when he would bluntly interrogate his baby brother on the contents of his dreams. And for the most part, Dean seemed to believe him.

In return, Sam tried to be patient. These were the sort of consequences he should've expected for creeping up to third base with Satan. Despite what Lucifer had said, Sam had decided to balance his family and the angel on his shoulder. If it came down to him choosing, he still firmly stood with family. But as of yet, he hadn't needed to choose a side.

Dean had ordered takeout from a pizza place and had it delivered to the door of their latest motel. Now he sat reading over some print-outs and chewing distractedly on a slice of meat lovers'. "Roman's doing way too well in the polls," he said over a mouthful of food. "Makes me lose faith in this country."

Sam snorted and nodded his agreement. He was searching the weather warnings online, looking for anything that indicated their kind of job opportunity. He'd barely found anything, which was a little unnerving. It seemed to him that if the angels were so distracted, the monsters should have been eager to do…whatever it was they did.

A rustling sound snapped the Winchesters' attention as an angel appeared in the room, next to the table they worked at. It wasn't who they expected.

"Anna?" The brothers said in unison. It didn't make sense; Anna was dead. Killed by an archangel, in fact.

"Hey guys," she said in that usual sad, soft tone of hers.

"Anna, it's good to see—" Sam began, though he let the sentence die as Dean splashed their new guest with holy water and salt.

"Sorry," he said with a smile and shrug. "Precautions."

"I understand," she said levelly.

"So, how are you here?" Dean asked, stepping forward.

"I'm not sure, and I don't remember where I was," the angel replied with a frown. "I do know that when I died, heaven wasn't at war with _itself_. Guys, Cas needs to win this war."

"Yeah, that's our opinion too," Dean said.

Sam frowned, a thought popping into his head. "Anna, do you know if any other angels were raised? Other than you, Cas, and Lucifer?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" She demanded. "Who raised Lucifer?"

"No one! Well, me, kinda. Death? I'm not really sure," Sam replied hurriedly as the angel glared down at him.

She sighed. "Then it's even more important that Castiel wins. The other side will destroy the angels who have begun to question, and they will restart the apocalypse. If Lucifer has been raised again, then they're one step closer to that goal." She explained. "Has Michael been raised as well?"

The brothers glanced at each other. "We don't know," Dean admitted.

"If he had, you would know," the angel replied. She began to pace, arms crossed over her chest.

"So Cas doesn't know you're back," Sam said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"No, he doesn't," she said regretfully. "It has to stay that way for now. But I'll stop by, and you guys can keep me updated. I need to help him win this fight, and that might mean doing things his supporters won't agree with."

The hunters nodded. "Stay safe, Anna," Dean told her.

"Thanks Dean. I will," she said as she disappeared.

…

They decided to work a case. It made them feel useful, and sort of took their minds off the leviathans and the war in heaven and the sex Sam had almost had. The case was pretty clearly a demon, which had come as a bit of a surprise. The issue was catching the thing. Demons had become pretty skittish, especially since Lucifer was back and the leviathans were active; they were aware that they were very close to the bottom of the food chain.

So finding the demon was an issue.

They couldn't summon it, as they had no idea who it was. They considered calling Crowley to ask him who it was, or to flat-out tell him to keep his pets on a leash. Dean said he'd had quite enough of politely asking demons to do things, and he decided they would hunt the old fashioned way. Sam was happy for anything that would keep them busy.

For a while, the hunt felt like years ago when they'd started working their own jobs. It was straightforward. Uncomplicated. It was just them, their fake IDs, and rock-salt rounds. For some reason they couldn't understand, the demon was collecting humans. The brothers assumed they were being possessed or killed, but when they finally got a lead it was to an old cellar on a farm property, filled with a dozen or so live humans.

They entered the cellar as quietly as possible, flashlights flicking across the faces of the men and women whose hands were bound above their heads. The demon would know where they were—it would smell them. They were being quiet so _they_ could hear _it_.

"You have a death wish, boys?" The demon asked with a laugh from the shadows. Dean twitched with surprise.

"Of course not," he said. "Your boss put your muzzle on. We're just here for an easy fight."

"Cute. But the angels aren't the only one having a war. We're not…ahh…comfortable with our security under Crowley, and we're not keen to follow his orders." An East Asian man with demon-black eyes stepped into the beam of one of the brother's flashlights, a wicked smile on his face.

"We?" Dean mouthed. Sure enough, three more demons were hiding in the shadows of the dusty cellar. In fact, on had been standing directly behind Sam. Before he knew what was happening, Ruby's knife was snatched away and tossed under a stack of crates.

"Perfect," the younger brother groaned, dodging a punch. He heard Dean fire his sawed-off, and heard one of the bound women shriek with terror from behind her gag.

"Damnit," Dean growled. The demons laughed, circling in the dark like hyenas.

"What's wrong, guys? I thought this was an easy fight?" The first demon said, his voice echoing in the tight space so they couldn't tell where he was.

Sam felt a hot pain stab into his shoulder and rip down his back. The demon jumped away with her curved blade before he could react. Dean shouted out a second later, and pressed a hand to the deep cut that had appeared in his thigh.

The younger brother grunted as the woman returned, her curved blade now wrapped around his throat as she held his hair in a tight fist. "When you get back to Hell, tell Crowley I said 'hi,'" the demon hissed into his ear, tensing her arm to slit his throat.

Sam closed his eyes, gasping, and suddenly felt a very clear calm. His pulse stopped hammering in his ears, and the sickly flood of adrenaline faded away. Then he simply exhaled and killed the demons.

With four flashes of light, they were simply dead, as if Sam were pumped full of demon blood. Only, he wasn't.

The bodies of the possessed dropped to the floor with heavy thuds. After a moment of stunned silence, the brothers dropped to check if they were still alive. They weren't. They began untying the captives next, working in almost unbearable silence.

"We're sorry," Dean said to them "but no one will ever believe you. So…just don't talk about this unless you want to get locked away." Some of the captives thanked him. Some just cried. One had apparently bled out, and they lay her body gently on the crates once Dean retrieved Ruby's knife.

Once they'd left the scene far behind and they could no longer hear the approaching sirens, Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and glared up at him. "_What the fuck was that_?" He demanded.

"What? I don't know," Sam replied.

"Oh I'm sure you don't," the older Winchester growled.

"That's right, Dean. I don't. Maybe I still had some juice left from Detroit? Because I bet it would take years for all that stuff to wear off."

Dean released Sam's collar, shaking his head. "Unbelievable," he spat. "You can't lie to me, Sam. I know you can borrow angel mojo from Lucifer, alright? So you can drop the damn innocent act."

Sam was shocked into silence for a long while. He frowned as his eyes flitted back and forth, contemplating the consequences. "I can what?" He asked carefully.

"Crap."

.

.

**So much fun, yet again.**

**Hope you guys have enjoyed reading so far! I think this fic will have 15 chapters in total, and I hope to finish it in the next few weeks. Next update should be pretty fast.**


	12. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Chapter 12: You Can't Always Get What You Want**

**Warnings: Language**

**So after promising that I'd update quickly, that was really slow, wasn't it? I actually have an excuse: my computer broke, and I had to get another. This is the fastest I could update. LITERALLY. My priorities are way out of order.**

**As always, thanks for your lovely and encouraging reviews!**

**...**

Sam wanted so badly to learn how angel powers were different from demon blood powers. Dean and Cas wanted so badly for him to never find out. They didn't go hunting. They didn't leave the new motel they'd transferred to. Sam was essentially grounded, except that he was allowed TV and internet.

He got pretty good at pretending to watch the news while he probed the edges of Lucifer's grace. He hadn't been able to access it when he'd been the angel's vessel; that would have given him some control. Still, he could feel it through the slowly trickling vein of power that seemed to link them together. As he sat on the bed, staring blurrily in the direction of the television, Sam pushed some of the brightness from his soul toward Lucifer's grace.

The hunter waited to see what was sent back, if anything.

"Sam?" Castiel asked, a frown directed at the younger Winchester. "How are you, uh…"

"I'm fine, Cas," Sam replied, shaking his head to clear it. "Just getting tired." It was actually the case. Sharing…whatever it was he shared with Lucifer left him cold and tired. Deciding to share it himself seemed to have meant that he gave a lot more than the devil had ever taken previously. It meant he felt like he was recovering from a harsh fever. He decided it was an undesirable feeling, and that he would leave any future sharing up to Lucifer.

At that thought, a new feeling rushed in. It tingled in his nerves and veins, making everything crisp and clear and simple. Everything was sharpened. He felt that rush of rightness again, and the feeling was addictive. It was like the high from demon blood, only instead of a polluted feeling, he felt pure. It wasn't some cheap imitation designed to poorly imitate the real thing. Sam had literally been made to receive a part of Lucifer's grace, and the angel had been made to give it.

But it wasn't his power, even in the contrived way the demon powers had been his. This was all Lucifer, through him. This is what he might have felt, had he been a willing vessel. Or rather, this was just a taste.

"Sam, obviously you're not just tired," Castiel said, standing and walking quickly to stand next to the hunter. When the he spoke, Sam actually heard the tiniest overlap of Castiel's true voice saying the very same words.

"No, I'm not," Sam admitted with a gasp. "I'm really not."

"What did my brother do?" Cas demanded.

"He…he sent more power back. Cas, if I close my eyes, I can actually feel his grace around my soul. Is that what Jimmy feels?" He asked, staring up at the concern in the angel's eyes.

"Yes, he is likely able to perceive the edges of my grace. Naturally it is an unpleasant state for something as sensitive as the human soul." The edge of pity in the angel's voice was clear, but it was also misguided.

"No," Sam nearly whispered "it doesn't hurt. It feel like….Cas, I want to be his vessel."

Castiel became rigid, his eyes widening in horror. "No Sam, you don't. I don't know what sort of feeling he has manufactured, but you don't want—"

Castiel's sentence cut short as he turned his head to see Lucifer standing behind him, a look of regret on his features. "Please excuse him, little brother," the archangel said.

"Lucifer," Cas growled. "You will not claim him as your vessel."

Lucifer paused, frowning, and Sam believed he was trying to ignore the order he had just been given by a lower angel. "I didn't intend to," he replied finally. Satan then turned his gaze to the hunter.

"I want to say yes," Sam told him as he had two years ago in Detroit. The difference was that he now meant it honestly.

"I believe you, but that was my mistake," Lucifer replied with a sigh. The feeling that had been buzzing through Sam's body had already begun to slowly ebb, but now it quickly subsided to a dull feeling of clarity. "Sam, you told me that you wanted your brother to be happy more than you wanted happiness for yourself. It was true before and it was true in the cage. Is it true now?" He demanded seriously.

Sam let out a long sigh. "Yes," he replied.

Lucifer nodded, and without another word, he flicked a distracted smile at both of them and was gone.

…

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked, trying not to sound too upset as he entered the motel room. He didn't have food with him, and had been gone with the Impala for nearly an hour, so Sam felt certain he had been talking to Anna.

"I asked him to leave for a second," the younger brother replied.

"And he did? What's up, Sam?" The tone slightly more demanding.

"Something happened, and I told Cas I wanted to talk to you about it first," the Sam explained. "But before that, what did Anna say?"

"No way, Sam. We talk about whatever the Hell happened while I was gone," Dean insisted.

"Look, Cas was here. He knows what happened, and he agreed to step out. If I run off or refuse to talk or whatever it is you're afraid I'll do, you can still ask him. So you can wait two minutes to tell me about Anna while he's gone."

Dean sighed, reluctantly agreeing.

"She's working on the war. She said they were losing ground, because a lot of the angels Cas _didn't_ kill don't trust him anymore, and switched sides. Some of them brought important weapons with them," Dean began.

"Okay, so what happened?"

"They started winning again. Just in the past day or two. She doesn't know why, and she wants us to find out somehow. I'm going to start by asking Cas," Dean said. He waited a couple seconds to let Sam think about it. "Now you go. What the fuck happened while I was gone for 45 minutes?"

"I gave Lucifer a bit of power, just so I could feel his grace better," Sam replied. The reasoning seemed far more feeble when he said it out loud.

Dean's expression was probably best described as 'horrified rage,' but he stayed quiet while Sam explained what had happened after, being perfectly clear that Lucifer had been the one to talk him out of it, and to bring him down, and to sort things out.

"Cas, come back in," Dean called before he said anything to his brother. "What's your opinion on this?" He demanded of the angel.

"Honestly," his expression for Sam was totally apologetic "I believe that this could easily be a ploy to make us trust him. However, he has now shown us that he can bend Sam's desires at any time. The fact that he did not accept his true vessel now does not mean he will not in the future."

The younger Winchester was furious at this. "Okay, so I messed up," he said. "But you're still the most important thing to me, Dean. We're family. So even if I fail, and even if you're really, _really_ pissed at me, you know I count on you. You never change, even when our life gets weird. And what I told Lucifer was true—the thing I want most is for you to be happy." It was infuriating that Dean couldn't see that everything Sam had done had been for his sake, even the things Dean had outright disagreed with or even forbidden. As they stood there glaring at each other, Sam could see that this concept still hadn't registered with his big brother.

"Sammy, I told the devil this, so you should hear it too," Dean said, his voice low and serious. "If family is so important to you, then you'll understand why I say that _I will kill you myself_ if you get too deep into this angel crap."

Hearing that from his brother was the biggest slap in the face that anyone could experience, but it wasn't unexpected. He forced himself to be calm, rather than point out that Dean likely _couldn't_ kill him with Lucifer roaming about. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists at the effort.

"No, Dean, I don't understand, because I would never do that to you," he said, jaw clenched.

"Well I would, alright? You're my brother, Sam. Lucifer isn't. If I lose you to him, then my brother is gone, and I'll have to hunt you just like anything else."

Castiel had watched from behind Dean, silently offering support to the older Winchester while glaring at the younger. "Sam, your decision to allow the devil near you may have jeopardized your entire species. I'm afraid that I agree with your brother. I will aid him in his hunt, should it become necessary."

Sam was looking for words, any words, when a rush of air announced the presence of an angel.

"Anna," Castiel gasped. "How are you…"

"I'm sorry, Cas, but there isn't time. We've reached the climax of the war. You're needed _now_."

.

.

**Oh, we're down to the wire now. Just three chapters to the end, lads and lasses! **

**And we may have even reached the end of people yelling at Sam! Hurraaaay!**


	13. I'd Love to Change the World

**Chapter 13: I'd Love to Change the World**

**Warnings: Language**

**Almost done, almost done! **

Sam and Dean were left waiting for several long, tense hours in their motel room. The cabin fever was absolutely maddening. They said nothing to each other, and Sam was glad that there was suddenly something more important in the world than his…whatever it was with Lucifer.

But that wasn't to say the younger Winchester was heartless; Sam felt for his brother. He knew how Castiel was important to him in every imaginable way, and could guess how hard it would be to be totally powerless to help him. They had no idea how long a heavenly war would take, or what it signs there would be if Cas lost. Would there even be anything they could do against angels if Cas were gone?

"Dean, look," he sighed from his seat on the edge of a bed. "You might not believe me, but I'm sorry it's Cas fighting up there, and I'm sorry for my shit too."

Dean looked up, and Sam felt a stabbing ache run through his heart at the sight of him. He looked so tense and tired, and the baby brother wasn't sure what to do.

"What is it?" Sam asked softly, though he thought he might know the answer. From the look on his face, Dean didn't believe that Castiel would win this fight. It made Sam feel as hopeless as his brother looked—after all, Cas would have shared more of the details of the war with the older hunter. Dean likely knew what the angel's chances were.

"Who…who are they fighting?" Sam asked carefully. Raphael and his supporters had all been killed in Cas's leviathan-fuelled rampage, yet from the way he and Anna had spoken, the ranks were pretty evenly split.

"Well let's think about that, Sam," Dean snapped, talking in that aggressively matter-of-fact way he spoke when he was beyond angry. Sam flinched at the volume of his brother's voice. "Cas wiped out Raphael and his supporters months ago. But now they've started rallying behind some unknown angel who is in favour of the apocalypse and who they must think has a fighting chance against Cas is. Oh wait, it couldn't possibly be your boyfriend, could it?"

That hadn't even occurred to Sam. But now it did. Now the possibility seemed very real. Very obvious. Lucifer had been distracting to all three them—intentionally or not—and had gained quite a bit of power from Sam without devoting much time or effort to it. Without thinking, Sam closed his eyes and looked for the blurring seam between human and angel, soul and grace. Lucifer wasn't gone, but neither did he feel accessible. It was like touching something through the mesh screen on a patio door; he could feel the impression of the devil's grace, but something strong and barely-yielding was in the way.

It seemed to Sam Winchester that that was enough to justify mild panic. "Oh fuck," he said simply, deciding human language was mostly inadequate for the situation anyways. The younger Winchester wasn't certain what was worse—that he had likely started the apocalypse again, that he had trusted the devil more than his own brother, or that Dean was being so comparatively patient with him now.

Though there were probably more important things to worry about, Sam's mind suddenly stuck on that last one. Dean was staring at him angrily. He'd just been a little bit loud, and a little gruff. That was _all_. But he seemed so certain of Satan's involvement, and of the probable outcome. It didn't mean that he wasn't worried about Castiel, or the angels, or the apocalypse. It simply meant that he'd seen it coming. Predicted Sam's weakness. Resigned himself to the inevitable.

That realization was pretty much all Sam could take, and yet the epiphanies kept coming. Lucifer had used him, in more than one way, and Sam had allowed him. Welcomed him. He had done more than simply let the devil in—he had begged to be his vessel. He had carried him out of Hell, leant him power over and over, and denied that he would do harm. Sam wasn't certain that people _normally_ got stupider as they aged, but apparently he had reached a point in his own life where he had trusted Satan not to betray him. In hindsight? Yes, that seemed very, _very_ stupid.

...

Castiel was battered in a way Dean and Sam would never understand. His grace was pummeled so that his very existence ached and teetered dangerously. His vessel was bruised and bloodied equally, and he felt that with such visual cues, the Winchester boys would likely appreciate his injuries, even if they couldn't understand them.

Less than half of their original ranks remained. A quick scan told him that he might be one of the least damaged of those who survived. Anna was nowhere in view, which saddened Castiel greatly. He had just learned that his sister lived—he was not ready to give her up again so quickly.

The war was over. The war which he, an unremarkable soldier in the vast Host of Heaven, had unwittingly helped to begin. He had sought to overthrow the very order of heaven, to question the way the will of God was understood, and to fundamentally change the way the angels would interact with humankind. Castiel had planned to guard humanity once he accomplished this goal. He would bow to the humans, would serve and love them as his father had so wisely directed. He intended for every angel to understand that peace and freedom, rather than the eternal struggle of the archangels, was the highest calling of the Host.

However, Castiel had not won the war.

Lucifer had.

And yet, somehow, Castiel was not yet dead. He rested, crumpled and beaten, before his triumphant brother. His tired mind working hopelessly as it searched for a way to save them, but he was done. It was finished. There were only two archangels in existence, and only one walked free in his vessel. The war was definitively finished, and so was God's creation.

"Little brother," Lucifer said, addressing Castiel softly. "You seem nervous."

Lucifer had waited until the very peak of their war before entering the struggle. When they had already lost most of their soldiers, the archangel had stepped in and defeated the generals of both sides. The difference was that Castiel remained intact, for the time-being. He wasn't certain what his brother's purpose was in preserving him. He prayed that it was not for use against the Winchesters in some kind of emotional torture. He steeled himself to resist whatever Lucifer had in mind, but knew that the effort was useless. There would be no resisting. He was finished. He could only console himself with the knowledge that he had eventually done what was right. He had served humanity. He had found love among them. He had chosen them.

Still, the angel couldn't help worrying about them. They were so fragile, and so small. He was certain they were waiting anxiously for him to return. His heart aced with the knowledge that he never would.

"I wonder what you imagine will happen now," Lucifer continued after receiving no reply. "I'm honestly curious about what's going on inside your head right now. 'Why am I alive? Is he going to torture me? Corrupt me? Use me against my husband?'" He mocked, deepening his voice to impersonate Castiel.

Castiel glared at his older brother, reluctantly waiting for the answers to those very questions.

"Castiel, I've defeated your army. I've defeated your adversary. My word is the word of heaven. Will you obey it?"

The younger angel had expected such a question as one possibility. He had been ready to answer 'no.' But Castiel was still a soldier. He was still loyal. Dutiful. He had started the war in the hopes that what remained of both sides would accept his judgment as the most true to their Father's design. From the position of defeat, he saw how very difficult that would have been for his adversaries to swallow.

Before Castiel could answer, Lucifer drew in a breath which surprised the younger angel with its tired edge. "I want our Father to pay. I want him to be accountable for my suffering. For _our _suffering. Someday, he will." A pause that seemed to stop the world with it. "And when I want heaven, I will take it back. You know now, without a doubt, that I can. But for now, it is heaven's will—_my_ will—that _you_ command the Host, little brother."

**Wait, what?**

**Hahaha, that was a lot of fun to write. Only two more chapters to go! Please forgive how short this one was; I was really unwilling to end it differently. **

**But the next two chapters will be very, very long. As a result, I make no promise about updates before the weekend or anything.**

**Thanks so much for sticking with it this far!**


	14. Simple Man

**Chapter 14: Simple Man**

**Warnings: Language**

Castiel was stunned into silence. He was certain he was misunderstanding. Surely Satan, the Adversary, was not passing leadership of heaven onto him.

"Stand, Castiel," Lucifer ordered, crossing his arms and staring casually down at his younger brother.

"I don't understand," Cas whispered, staying firmly where he was. He didn't want to obey, though even if he did, he wasn't sure he _could_.

"I've made a choice, little brother," he explained. "Michael and I will fight, but it will be on my terms. Father will pay, and it will be when I want. And right now, they can wait. Everything can wait. Right now, I want Sam Winchester."

The younger angel simply couldn't understand. "Why?" He asked simply.

"I really don't feel the need to explain," the devil replied. "But his life is short, and I can't be running heaven and still devote the amount of attention that I'd like. You will do it."

It was a stupid thought that entered Castiel's mind at that moment. He was crushed and broken before the devil, yet he was being asked to seize the thing he had sacrificed countless lives to achieve—heaven.

And yet, he didn't want it any more. He thought of how many angels had been lost to the cause. He thought of what he had done when he had claimed the power before, using the souls of purgatory as the disgusting fuel for his cleansing. He didn't deserve leadership of the Host.

Nor did he want it. Sam was fragile and fleeting and small, yes. And so was Dean. Castiel's loyalty to humanity had come through Dean, and it was anchored there like a stone. He was unwilling and unable to imagine how he would govern heaven without Dean's guidance. His arrogance, and bravado, and kindness. It seemed an utterly insurmountable task.

So, he released the stupid thought into the world; "I don't want to," he replied.

The devil grew stiff. "What?"

"I don't want to," Castiel repeated, his tone slightly more forceful. "I don't feel the need to explain, but I will be spending the remainder of Dean's lifetime on Earth."

The devil laughed. It was a soft, friendly sound that should have been more unsettling than it was. "I can't really argue with that," he replied. "If you're serious, then you'll choose a leader. I'm finished with heaven for now."

With that, Lucifer vanished.

…

Sam nearly died of a heart-attack when Lucifer appeared in front of him in the boys' motel room.

"_What did you do to Cas, you sonofabitch_?" Dean demanded before Sam could react, throwing himself forward and pushing the devil roughly against the wall. He punched the other man in the face, resulting in a light crack from his own hand which he chose to ignore. "_Answer me!"_

"Dean, release him," Castiel said softly, collapsing onto the bed as soon as he appeared.

The older Winchester was speechless, and stayed perfectly still. Lucifer sighed, rolled his eyes, and simply moved Dean away.

Sam was also silent, unwilling to speak to Lucifer.

"Cas? Cas, what did he do to you?" Dean finally asked, going to his angel's side.

"Quite a bit, though most of it is now irrelevant," Castiel replied. He closed his eyes, his expression fixated as if every breath required his full attention. He took a sharp, wavering inhale before speaking. "Lucifer didn't betray you, Sam."

"What?" The younger hunter whispered.

"Cas," Dean stepped back hesitantly, wondering what was wrong with his angel's head. "Are you trying to tell us that Lucifer kicking your ass and trying to take over heaven _wasn't_ him betraying Sam? Because my little brother can be thick sometimes, but I don't think he actually _wanted_ that."

"Lucifer didn't merely _try_ to take over heaven, Dean." The angel sighed.

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened to speak, but it took several moments for his brain to select words for it to use. "You won," he whispered to the archangel.

"I did," he replied with a twitch of a smile. "And so did your pet angel, and so did you boys. There's prizes for everyone."

"I don't—"

"Speaking of, did you choose your replacement, Cas?" Lucifer asked his younger brother with that perpetually casual tone.

He nodded, apparently understanding what the devil was talking about. At least someone in the room did. "Anna. She has chosen loyalty to _humanity_," Castiel replied.

This response earned a chuckle from Satan. "No accounting for taste."

"Okay, back up." Dean demanded suddenly from his place next to Cas. Apparently it was the limit of his patience. "What the actual Hell are you talking about? And can you please be a little less calm when you say that _the fucking devil_ is in charge of heaven now?"

"I'm not in charge. Your fling, Anna, is." Lucifer retorted.

"What—"

"I wanted to have a bit of a democratic say in who runs heaven for the next century or so," Lucifer informed the brothers. "And more importantly, Sam, I wanted to prove to you that when I say I can put the apocalypse on the back burner, I actually mean it."

That was a little much to process, but Sam's brain put up a valiant effort. "You…single-handedly won the war in heaven…to prove a point?" He tried.

"Yuh huh. Well, more than one, but this is the one you'll care about."

Dean flicked an anxious look to Castiel, who shrugged; they didn't have to worry for the moment.

"I told you, Sam, you're important to me. You were made for me. You pulled me out of heaven twice. I'm not ungrateful, and I recognize a gift when it's given," Lucifer said, taking slow, careful steps forward as if trying not to spook a nervous animal.

"Even if you're not up for the apocalypse, what makes you think any of us will just let you go as Sam for Halloween?" Dean demanded.

"Excuse me?" The archangel asked softly, eyes narrowed at the hunter.

"You aren't getting anywhere near Sam, you piece of shit. Understand? You won't ever take my baby brother."

The archangel looked sad, then. He sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry you still feel that way, Dean, but this is fate. I _will_ take Sam," Lucifer told him. Then he moved further toward the younger Winchester, reaching a hand up and running it through Sam's hair to the back of his head, which he pulled gently but firmly forward.

Then Lucifer proceeded to kiss Sam Winchester.

Sam's heartbeat pounded in his head as that taste returned. He hadn't realized he'd been craving it, but he immediately felt himself melt against the tender movement of the devil's lips. One of his hands went to Lucifer's short, blond hair, while the other pulled his hips closer. His breathing began to roll into deep, loud gasps.

"What the fuck is this?" Dean demanded.

Sam froze. _Oh yeah._

"Dean, I—"

"Are you sleeping with the devil?"

"I—"

"Dammit, Sam, _are you fucking Lucifer_?" He shouted.

The archangel shifted slightly, moving to stand solidly just ahead of Sam, reminding the hunter of the last time the four of them had been in a room together. He hoped this conversation would involve less gunfire, though he doubted it. Maybe Lucifer doubted it too.

"Sam," his brother insisted.

"Not yet, no." Sam said forcefully in reply.

Dean's mouth twitched into something Sam would almost describe as a snarl, and the younger brother realized what he'd just said. He felt his stomach drop to his ankles. Felt some kind of distant, impending panic.

"Interesting choice of words," Lucifer mumbled for only Sam to hear.

"Sam, this is completely off the fucking deep end, _do you understand_? You can't be butt buddies with the fucking devil. You can't fall in love and have children and get married with Satan, alright? Remember when you said you just wanted to feel normal? _This sure as Hell isn't the way to fucking do that_." Dean shouted.

"Actually Dean," he said, voice sounding surprisingly calm to his own ears, "I think this _is _the way to do that."

Lucifer turned his head to look up at Sam, sky-blue eyes staring with an inhuman expression on a human face. If Sam had to guess, he'd say the emotion displayed there was surprise. Perhaps even relief. Sam suddenly ached to wrap his arms around Lucifer somehow, to encircle him and show him that yes, he finally felt it too. They _needed_ to be together. Yet the gesture seemed so intimate and foreign, despite what they and just done, because it wasn't the same. He settled for placing a hand on the devil's shoulder, and squeezing gently there.

"You're serious," Dean asked bluntly, frowning deeply with disbelief.

"Dean, I believe your brother may be right," Castiel said.

Dean groaned. "Not you too, Cas."

"This may be the least destructive path. Some good may even come of it." The angel continued.

"Look," Sam interjected. "I need you to trust me." A quick glance at Lucifer. "Us. Trust _us_," he amended, word awkward an unfamiliar on his tongue. "I want to keep hunting. I want to keep saving people, and going on the road with you, and staying in crappy motels, and eating in diners, and doing things sane people would never believe. But I also want to be…"

"With Lucifer," Dean supplied reluctantly.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "With Lucifer."

"What's more important to you, Sam? Him, or your family?" Dean asked. It wasn't an accusation, and it wasn't a demand. It was simply an honest question. A tired, honest, lonely question.

"I don't want to have to make that choice, Dean. You're the one asking me to," the baby brother replied as gently as he could.

"Damnit," he growled softly. "No, I'm not, okay?"

Sam wasn't sure he understood. He didn't want to believe it and be disappointed. "You're not what?" He dared to ask.

"I'm not going to make you choose."

Sam's eyes widened. His mouth opened. His breath stopped. Lucifer stepped out from between the two brothers, and nodded a smile to Dean. Sam moved forward in a hasty stumble and threw his arms around his older brother, panting the words 'thank you' in Dean's ear and breathing in that messy, emotional way that only Sam could do seriously. Dean hugged his baby brother back, slapping a hand on the back of his shoulders.

"But I still hate you," he said to Lucifer over Sam's shoulder, pointing an accusatory finger. He received a broader smile in reply, and Dean couldn't help wondering how monumentally stupid this decision would turn out to be.

…

**Just one more to go! Hope you guys who have stuck it out this long have enjoyed it. **

**Shouldn't be too long with the update, and it should be a very long chapter. There will be smut, so if you aren't into that, consider this your final chapter. **


	15. Carry On My Wayward Son

**Chapter 15: Carry on my Wayward Son**

**Warnings: Language, explicit sexuality**

**We made it! Hurray! I'M SOOOO SLOW AND I'M SOOOO SORRY! But I actually had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm glad to see that a few people liked reading it. Totally an underrated pairing, in my humble opinion. So thanks for the support thus far; it's been **_**really**_** appreciated. I tried to write an extra long chapter to make up for my flakiness. **

**And now, the final chapter, in which Sam Winchester screws the devil for the good of humanity. So at long last, here is your smut, and the tying of some loose ends:**

Anna dropped in on them a few days later, mostly to thank Cas and stare awkwardly at Lucifer and answer whatever questions the boys had. She wouldn't let anyone say that she was God, though she admitted she was a temp for him. They were likely not going to see much of her, she told them, but not none either—the Winchester boys had a way of being in the middle of everything important.

No one asked Lucifer when he planned to take heaven back. No one dared, not even Sam. He was regaining the trust that had been shaken by the events of the war, but he still couldn't bear the thought that for the devil, he was a vacation. A temporary experiment in the humanity he otherwise loathed.

Dean asked Castiel when he thought it would be, and Cas wasn't sure either. His best guess was that it would be after Sam died, but he suggested that they be vigilant.

Yeah, Dean could do that.

They got back on the road, though Dean instated a 'no archangel' policy for the Impala that Lucifer insisted was unfair—Gabriel had been in it before, after all. Dean ignored the fact that the devil somehow knew that. Lucifer was around less often than Castiel, though only slightly. He didn't like Dean, and he didn't intrude on Sam's dreams, and they found that he was generally more private than they had expected.

But Sam wanted to see Lucifer. Wanted him to be around. He'd let the devil in, and accepted him, and consciously decided that he would find a way to be with him. Once he'd made that choice, it was like a flood. It stopped being a desire and became a _need_.

Sam wondered how Dean and Cas had managed to find time alone together before, because he was having a lot of trouble finding it now. Eventually, though, he did.

Lucifer came whenever Sam called for him. He might not always be pleased about it, but he was never angry, and he always showed up. Sam chose a night when Dean and Cas were out at a bar—Dean insisted on 'teaching his angel about human decadence'—before calling the devil to their room. Sam was learning that Lucifer liked to flaunt his power in a casual way. Or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to hide it. Either way, when he entered the room, a chill ran through it, as did the anxious feeling in the air that came before a furious storm.

"Hi Sam," the devil greeted simply.

Sam nodded in reply, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Hey." He felt stupid.

Lucifer smiled obligingly and stepped forward, sliding hands to rest unashamedly on Sam's ass. He gazed up at the hunter with that perpetually amused smile. "No need to be shy, Sammy. You can tell me whatever you want to say."

The younger Winchester believed that he could. It was odd to note the contrast in how Lucifer dealt with people—with Castiel and Michael, he had been reluctant and regretful. With Dean or Bobby, he ranged from irritation to barely-contained fury. But with Sam…the hunter believed the archangel would truly give him everything if he asked for it.

"I want…to know what you can feel. From me," Sam replied slowly.

The archangel raised an eyebrow and squeezed at the handfuls of ass still under his palms. "You'll have to be more specific."

Before allowing himself to proceed, Sam decided very pointedly that he would not get an erection during this conversation.

"Can you feel anything from my soul? I know angels can read them or something, and I think you have a backstage pass," he clarified with a stiff tone.

Rather than reply, Lucifer smiled and closed his eyes. Sam stood awkwardly still, the silence dragging on more and more conspicuously. He was about to say something when he felt it. It was like the surge from days ago when Lucifer had shared some of his grace, only even more overwhelming, if that was possible. His senses all focused to the peak of his ability, goosebumps running across his flesh and hair standing on end. It was like his senses were being assailed, and the feeling was not at all unpleasant.

It had felt familiar several days ago, as it did now. The difference was that he could actually place the feeling now—it was like he had felt when he had been Lucifer's vessel. He had fought then, rebelled against Satan. He hadn't allowed the feeling to wash over him as it did now. It was the feeling of his soul being enveloped by an archangel.

"Sam," the devil coaxed, leaving the sensation intact but calling Sam's attention away. The hunter was then able to notice the feeling of the grace itself. It was like feeling emotions for another person. He felt Lucifer's joy, his momentary contentment, his unrepentant arrogance, his haughty power…everything as if it was his own.

Then the feeling slowly ebbed away. Apparently Sam had started breathing heavily at some point, because he was still doing it now. "That's what you can feel from me. All the time." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Lucifer replied simply.

"This is what you wanted from me, at least partially. This was what you were trying to tell me."

"Yes."

The feeling of Lucifer's grace, and the knowledge that it was so close, threatened to drown Sam in some supernatural blend of ecstasy and peace. However, he couldn't help focusing on what he'd felt from the archangel; anger. Disappointment. Betrayal. He hadn't lied when he'd said the apocalypse was simply on the backburner. It didn't matter that Sam and Dean were safe, or that the world could relax for a few decades while Lucifer was distracted. That wasn't what he and his brother had spent their entire lives fighting for. It was a consolation prize, and that wasn't near good enough.

Lucifer felt Sam's hesitation and stepped back, hands sliding away. "Sam, you can never understand how important you are to me," he said, his voice a gentle, sad murmur. "But other things are more important still. Justice, freedom, vengeance. You will never change my mind or drag me away, and it will only hurt you to try. My brother couldn't persuade me, and neither could my Father. Humanity is a mistake, and I must be the one who corrects it."

That was exactly what was irritating Sam so thoroughly. It was what was keeping him from giving over every last inch of himself to Lucifer. "_Why?_" He demanded. "How could you find me so special and see nothing in any other human that's worth saving?"

"You're different, Sam," Lucifer insisted, seeming sad that he couldn't make Sam understand his point of view.

"But I'm more similar than I am different. There are people in the world who are better than me. Hell, Dean is a much better person than I'll ever be."

A sigh escaped the archangel's lips. "Maybe we're not so similar, you and I. I'm willing to correct people when they're wrong. Judge them for their mistakes. I don't feel a false sense of duty to people I've never met, and I understand that in the natural order, some lives are simply worth less."

The hunter had to fight not to tell the angel that he didn't seem to have a sense of duty to _anyone_. To say so might have been a death wish, even for Sam. Instead, he settled for asking the devil why he couldn't believe that God might have been right and that humanity deserved to survive.

"That's just it; I could tolerate it if humans could live on their own. But they are weak, and fragile, and destructive, and arrogant. Human's don't just survive, they _demand_. They need constant care. That the angels should bow to humans, and love and serve them more than our Father himself? I refused. The idea that humanity deserves our reverence is a joke I'll never understand." Lucifer's expression had grown noticeably darker at the topic, and Sam wondered if he should proceed.

"I remember you said to Michael that God knows everything. That he must have _wanted_ for there to be a devil," Sam began carefully. Lucifer held his gaze intently, but the archangel was silent, allowing Sam to continue. "I know God can be a dick, but I seriously doubt he would set up the world to have a devil for no reason."

"_Someone_ needs to be sure the assholes are punished," Lucifer said dismissively by way of explanation.

"Right, but why not just make a king of Hell to start with? Why set things up to have an archangel rebel?" Sam continued.

"I don't see how this is relevant," Satan interjected with annoyance.

"God gave people free will so it would mean something when we did the right thing, didn't he? Then how would it mean anything if _you_ were just mindlessly obedient? After killing angels, and humans, and gods, and leviathans…after being a part of this stupid war, can't you see nothing he made is perfect? We're _all_ messed up. None of us deserves to have anyone kneel for them just because of what they are. But some of us actually try, and those are the people we try to protect. Those are the people Cas, and Gabriel, and Anna, and even Balthazar were loyal to. Not God. And I think he knew that you would need to actually _see _all of that, rather than just do what you were told. I think that's why he loved you most. I think...that's why_ I_ love you most."

A silence hung between them, and Sam heard his heart drum in his ears as he searched the deep lines of Lucifer's frown for any sign that he had just horribly, fatally offended the most powerful angel in existence.

The devil slowly and carefully moved back toward the hunter until they were an arm's length from each other. He never took his eyes off Sam's. The Winchester remembered all of the things Lucifer had done to his family, to his friends, or to perfect strangers. The angel loathed humanity. He despised heaven. The attempt to convince him to feel otherwise had seemed feasible at the time, but staring into Satan's glare now, Sam realized that it had been both arrogant and naïve.

Lucifer finally broke his glare as he closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Maybe you understand after all," he said to Sam finally.

Then, slowly and reverently, Lucifer dropped to his knees before Sam Winchester, and whispered the words "I love you."

It was the most bizarre scene imaginable, as the human stood above the humble form of the archangel. The moment that passed felt like an eternity to Sam, and like the most fleeting moment to Lucifer, but these feelings were shared between them until they were indistinguishable from one another. The hunter felt uncomfortable with it; he of all people didn't deserve to be looked at with so much love. He didn't know what it would take for anyone to be a saint anymore, but he was certain he was a sinner, and he couldn't bring himself to be above Lucifer.

So Sam bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he ran his hand up into the angel's hair and pulled him gently forward into a soft kiss. Lucifer was still with shock for a moment before sighing deeply and reciprocating. Those familiar chills slid along Sam's lips again, prickling his skin with sensation. His mouth had to move on its own, because he lost complete control of himself in the feeling. He noticed himself leaning farther forward, pushing the angel back until Lucifer was looking up with icy blue eyes from the motel carpet. Sam crouched over him, breathing heavily and staring back. Lucifer raised a hand, likely to pull the hunter down. Sam grabbed his wrist, collected the other in his grip, and pinned them on the floor. The devil chuckled indulgently, and the sound was muffled as Sam dropped into another kiss.

It took a while for the hunter to realize that the feeling at his chest was that of his shirt slowly being unbuttoned. He realized that one of Lucifer's hands had snaked its way free of his grip at some point and was now moving on to work at the fly of his jeans. He gasped as another shiver of anticipation worked its way along his skin. It seemed that as he stared deeper and deeper into Lucifer's eyes, he just grew _hungry_.

In his head there was a blurry need to be closer to the angel. _His_ angel. He needed every part of himself to be touching every part of Lucifer—he thought he would explode with that need. He was tearing at the angel's shirt in the next moment, fumbling and growling with impatience. Lucifer grinned up at him with something beyond his usual amusement, and it just made Sam more impatient. After far too much time—if anyone asked the Winchester, anyways—the two were pressed against each other, warm human flesh pinning down the cool skin of the archangel. Sam couldn't help pressing his hips down into Lucifer's, eliciting appreciative little growls. The angel bucked up in reply, and grabbed Sam's lower lip in a rough bite.

"I'm getting all these little hints from you," Lucifer said, smoothing a hand over Sam's erection to punctuate his statement "but I'd like it if you were straightforward. What do you want, Sam?"

The hunter glared at the angel. Was he being mocked, or just teased? Either way, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "You know what I want," he replied simply.

"Oh, I don't want to make any assumptions. What if someone accuses me of taking advantage of you?" The devil replied with a grin.

Sam had an odd moment of clarity, in which the world seemed to grow still and hushed, waiting for him to say words that were beyond even his own comprehension. "I want to fuck you," he whispered.

"A bit of enthusiastic consent please, Sam."

Sam leaned in until his hot breath panted over the devil's ear. "Lucifer, I'm going to fuck you," he growled.

A wolfish smile was the only reply.

What remained of their clothes was removed in a flurry. Sam didn't remember it, as clothing was never once the focus of his attention.

They kissed frantically, passionately, madly. The link between them made it so Sam felt echoes of every touch along his skin in humming ripples, and every graze against Lucifer's skin sent a corresponding jolt of frost. A part of him wanted to revel in the exploration forever. The devil had been forbidden for so long, and now here he was, laid out willingly and inviting every kind of touch.

But even stronger than the desire to linger was the hunger for more. Sam wanted to give Lucifer _everything_.

The younger Winchester had never done this before. He was academically familiar with the sort of necessary prep involved, but by no means an expert. He also couldn't bring himself to ask Lucifer if he, perhaps, was more familiar with anal.

He didn't need to ask, it seemed, because the angel was gently tugging at Sam's already urgent boner, coaxing him down and toward his hole. Shock must have registered in the hunter's expression, because Lucifer's narrow-eyed grin returned. "I'm going to have all of you Sam, and you're going to enjoy it," he explained in a fatalistic tone.

Sam felt that warm-yet-cold sensation on the edge of his dick as it was pressed against the opening of Lucifer's ass. The human hesitated, certain that any pain on Lucifer's part could end the world. But the angel rolled his hips purposefully, and Sam found himself pushing back against the pressure. Just pushing felt good, in fact, but he could only enjoy that realization for a moment before his dick slowly entered.

He gasped. His brain couldn't register the feeling. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing. Yet Lucifer continued to push up against him, sliding farther and farther up Sam's shaft with singular focus. The devil growled low in his throat, and the sound echoed through the room. Sam's brain, almost entirely on autopilot, decided that it liked the sound. He rolled his hips forward and down, then pulled back up at a tantalizingly slow pace. He managed to draw another growl from the angel, this one punctuated by a laugh.

"Sam, Sam," he said with his usual suppressed smile. "I enjoy your enthusiasm, but if you're too impatient, you'll spoil the ending."

The hunter's hands clenched into fists on the carpeted floor on either side of the devil's head as he made a conscious effort to control himself. He took up a slow, rolling pace with his hips, panting deeply with each movement. As he pushed against Lucifer, his mind searched for the connection the two had. Once he had located the feeling in the back of his mind that felt like Lucifer, he pushed himself against it with the same rhythm as his body was using. He heard the faintest groan from the angel, and knew that it was working.

Sam would reflect, later, on the fact that his whole life had brought him to this point. His birth had been arranged by heaven, his blood mixed with a demon's by Azazel, his safety guarded by Castiel, his choices pushed—but never decided—by the heavenly host, his psychic powers trained by Ruby, his sense of duty perfected by Dean. No other person could have gotten where he was. No other person would have made the same choices, good and bad. He and Lucifer were fated to be together, pressed against a motel floor, feeling the edges of each others being. His life had led up to this moment, and this moment in turn would lead to something more. It was a realization he would come to later, but the feeling that would lead him to it was budding as he pressed his sweating torso against the devil's crisply-cool skin. He pushed deeper, faster, somehow dividing his focus between the motion of his body and his mind, the feedback loop it caused, and the hungry look in Lucifer's eye as he pushed back in harmony.

And even with his attention divided as it was, yet another sensation slowly burned its way into the forefront of his mind; he was about to come.

The younger Winchester had a slight moment of panic. He had no idea what the etiquette for coming—or not—in the devil's ass was.

"I..." he began with an insufficient amount of composure.

"Perfect," the devil purred. One of his hands snapped up and pulled Sam's head down by the hair, trapping him in a voracious kiss.

Sam would not be able to remember the feeling of going over the edge, once it was over. It was beyond description, and far from the sorts of feelings he could categorize. It was like nothing else, and so could not be spoken of. If he tried, the closest thing he could say would simply be 'Lucifer.' He felt Lucifer, in every possible sense of the word.

**Thanks very much for reading, everyone. I hope that was alright. Probably not 6 months worth of writing, but hopefully sufficient. Please review/share/whatever if you enjoyed it. Maybe other people will get Samifer feels and write something else? **

**Well, thanks again!**


	16. What You Make Me Do: 1 Beast of Burden

**What You Make Me Do, Chapter 1: Beast of Burden**

**Holy crap, a sequel!**

**So hi again everybody. I felt a sudden urge to get to work on a somewhat domestic sequel to Not Going Away, but I'm realizing that it's quite distant from the current SPN plotline. Like, all of season 8 contradicts not only what I wrote in the original fic, but also what will happen here. As a result, maybe re-read the last chapter to double-check that you have the correct headcanon installed? **

**Anyways, I think these chapters will be a little longer, and will be more focused on character development than plot or smut. I think I'll do maybe 5 chapters? We'll see how that goes...**

**And thank you, so much, to everyone for your support and overwhelmingly positive reviews on the last story. Hopefully I can live up to your standards for this.**

**Enjoy!**

...

Dean would never forgive Lucifer.

He didn't think Sam would either—his little brother wasn't that dumb. But Lucifer was the bottom-line cause of all the suffering in their lives. He had tried to destroy the world, had found it _fun_. He'd torn both of Dean's brothers' souls to shreds in the pit. His demons had killed nearly everyone he'd ever cared about. So while Sam could believe in change and redemption and moving forward...Dean was only settling for distracting the devil. Settling and waiting, but not forgiving.

This waiting didn't mean he enjoyed having Satan around, either. The less he saw of the archangel, the better. It didn't help that Lucifer made a lot of their job moot, either. Heaven was in order, demons were no threat, and the leviathans were being chipped away at. He left them to work on ghosts and monsters and other things he thought of as dirty or beneath him, but for the most part, this outsourcing was endangering their jobs. Besides, everywhere they went was unseasonably cold when the angel was around. And Dean hated snow.

"All I'm saying, Sam, is that someone beat this whole damn situation with the ugly stick," Dean growled over a mouthful of take-out burrito.

"Yeah, I guess, but I'd rather be bored than have my life constantly threatened," Sam told his brother with a sigh. Part of Dean agreed with that. Less people were dying, and that was important. But relying on Lucifer wasn't a good thing on its own. Essentially, Satan was a bad thing all-around. That was what Dean had decided, and it seemed pretty self-evident to him that the world wold be better off without a devil.

The hunter licked some sour cream and beef juice off his thumb, crumpled up the empty tex-mex wrapper, and threw it in a perfect arc into the trash across the room. Normally he would have nodded with a bit of self-satisfaction, but he was irritated at the moment, so the shot went unnoticed.

"Better than putting Cas's life in danger, too," Sam added in a near whisper that told Dean that his brother expected him to snap at the remark. It took a bit of effort not to, honestly. The beating Satan had given his angel when they'd fought for heaven was very fresh in his mind. But that didn't mean he disagreed with Sam. As it stood right now, everything was relatively peaceful. Dean would be the last person to ruin that by ruffling the devil's feathers. He had family to protect, and he'd do what was necessary to keep them safe.

...

Lucifer watched.

He sat in the corner of the motel room the brothers had spent the night in, casually resting his chin on his hand. He had one foot resting on the edge of his wooden chair, which was tipped back to balance on its rear two legs, just shy of bumping into the light blue wallpaper behind him.

The devil ignored the eldest Winchester's periodic glares in his direction. He equally ignored the fretful frown on Castiel's face, which moved back and forth between archangel and hunter as if his vessel's head were the ball in a game of pong.

Lucifer's entirety was instead focused on Sam Winchester. His casual demeanour was calculated so as to not make the younger hunter worry and stop what he was doing—which was, at this point, packing his clothes so they could leave.

It was not as though the Lightbringer had never taken the time to observe his vessel—nothing could be farther from the truth. He had spent long hours observing Sam. He had watched his eyes dart across scenery as it whizzed by in the Impala. He had watched his chest rise and fall as he slept. He had watched the way his fingers moved when he cleaned his gun. He had watched his cells replicate.

But all of that had been before. All of that watching had been covetous, yes, and anticipatory. But it had all been with the same sort of analyzing precision as someone looking to purchase a car—you care about what the thing can do, and what you will be with it, but no matter how perfect the match it is merely a means to an end.

Lucifer now knew better. Sam's irrational, inconsistent actions and his ridiculous optimism were no longer deplorable side-effects of humanity. They were, in some strange way, the power behind the impossible feats accomplished by he and his brother.

But of course, he was merely watching a mortal folding shirts and tucking them neatly into a gym bag. The angel found himself growing irritable over the sentimentality that had been provoked by such a mundane chore, and so chose to stop observing for the moment.

Dean's gun hand twitched but did not move as the archangel let his chair drop onto all four legs. The action elicited a dull thud on the bread-mold green carpet that also caught Castiel's attention. Lucifer stood, stretching lazily and glancing through the part of the window that was visible between the thick curtains.

"Time has moved quicker than this while watching Dawson's Creek reruns," Lucifer declared impatiently.

"She'll come whenever she can," Sam told the angel apologetically, not looking up from his work. The hunters were waiting on a homeless woman they had run into the previous evening, when they'd freed a group of people who were apparently being prepared for dinner. The Winchesters had insisted that they look for the other groups of prisoners stashed all around the town, but the woman had insisted they wait—the baddie, whatever it was, worked on a schedule. The boys had reluctantly agreed to the plan, deciding that they could get everyone out safely while it was gone, then be ready to take it on once the area was clear.

The idea of the whole ordeal bored the archangel Lucifer immensely. He had distracted himself for an hour or so with a rousing game of Pokemon Pinball, but he suspected he was in for a boring night with this particular hunt.

A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Dean got up from mechanically cleaning his weapons to unlock the door and invite the woman in. "Hey Eva, thanks for coming," the hunter said with a decent amount of sincerity.

The woman was dressed in grey sweatpants and an olive green men's jacket that was absolutely covered in pockets and pouches. She was messy looking, but not dirty and was clearly sober. Lucifer wondered idly why she was homeless at all, but didn't give it much thought. Eva looked around the room, her posture careful and stiff. "Are they 'hunters' too?" She asked with a slight nod to Lucifer and Castiel.

Sam paused for a moment, and Lucifer felt him searching for the appropriate amount of truth to tell.

"In a way," he said with a sigh, deciding on some measure of trust. "They're actually, well, angels." Sam frowned a bit, looking to Eva with an expression that almost seemed to apologize for how ridiculous he sounded. He didn't expect the woman to believe him, despite what she'd already seen.

"Angels," she said with a doubtful once-over of the two scruffy men staring back at her. "Yeah, okay, why not. Are the angels going to be helping us?" The question was still directed at the boys, rather than the total strangers.

"Castiel will," Sam said with a nod to the younger angel. "The, uh, the other one won't be."

Lucifer nodded his head in greeting as if he'd just been introduced, a sarcastic smile on his vessel's face, but otherwise he left them to their work.

...

The prisoners were in abandoned warehouses and factories all over the town, and in some collapsing farms and stables in the county. It was a much larger-scale problem than they'd realized from the missing persons posters, and they realized that people had been rounded up from all over the state. It was Castiel who had managed to locate many of the other points as Eva and the brothers worked at freeing people in the town itself.

The sheer size of the problem, though, made it so that they were desperate for time. Eva became more and more panicked as the clock ticked, saying that whatever it was that had been collecting these people was bound to drop in and find them at any minute.

"That's why we need to focus and get everyone out of here safely," Dean encouraged her sternly. "Every minute counts, and we just keep working until we run out of time."

"You'll be fine, Eva," Sam added. "We've been doing this our whole lives. We know what to do." Sam's voice was as steady and calm as he could make it, but he was beginning seriously worry about the job. He had never seen this kind of scale before. Sure, there had been a handful of captives held by a djinn, and people were sometimes rounded up by demons, but nothing made sense for this kind of hoarding of humans. At least, not anything they were prepared to take out on their own.

A faint clicking sound approached then, as if in response to Sam's concerns. It repeated a few times, and suddenly the fluorescent lights of the appliance factory's warehouse spluttered on and the three were lit, in plain view.

A man stood on the stairwell that led down from the supervisor's office at the corner of the room. He was bearded, White, and dressed in a dark grey suit. The only interesting feature on the man, from what Sam could see, was that he wore a copper coil as a pendant around his neck.

Eva shrieked, and that was all the Winchesters needed to know. Dean whipped out his gun and Sam slid toward Eva, trying to usher her to cover.

"So you're the hoarder we're cleaning up after," Dean called out to the man, who hadn't moved since appearing.

"Dean Winchester, I presume," the man said, ignoring Dean's statement.

"Good guess. And what do we call you?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Taranis," he replied, the lights above flickering with his voice.

"Crap," Sam hissed. "Dean," he called more loudly. "Taranis is the name of the old Celtic god of thunder. He's a god who Julius Caesar said was given human sacrifices by the tribes that worshipped him."

"Of fucking course he is," Dean muttered just loud enough for Sam to hear. Then he opened fire.

Taranis barely flinched as rounds hit him or sprayed sparks at his feet. He slowly descended the stairs, and moved purposefully toward Dean.

"The bullets aren't doing anything!" Eva yelled at Sam over the sound of gunfire. Dean dropped his pistol, loaded with both silver and steel bullets, and grabbed his sawed-off. Rock salt had even less effect, if that was possible.

"I need you to geek out for me here, Sam," Dean shouted without taking his eyes of the advancing god.

"There's not much info on him, Dean. The Celts didn't write their myths down, and Caesar was mostly interested in how Taranis might be similar to Jupiter than on what the locals said about him." Sam replied, thinking frantically to try to remember something of value.

"Guys, he can't be an actual god, right? They're just myths," Eva said with a laugh so nervous it made her sound crazy. Or rather, a part of Sam's mind noted, it made her sound totally sane because that was exactly the right kind of reaction to the situation.

"You'll believe angels, but not gods?" Sam replied distractedly, still looking for a weapon they could use. Dean was retreating as he fired now, trying to buy time and maintain distance. Sam knew better than to count on Castiel appearing—if he remembered correctly, Taranis was a part of a triad of gods who took human sacrifices. It would explain the sheer number of people taken, and would also mean Cas would have his hands quite full. Lucifer, on the other hand, could not be bothered to help them with jobs not related to demons. The archangel insisted he was not humanity's pest control, and left it at that. And Sam himself, though a sort of on-again off-again psychic, was completely ineffective unless demons were concerned. So what now?

"Well, angels means God God, right?" Eva replied to Sam's question, though he hadn't really expected an answer. She sounded almost pleading, as if she could use logic to force the monster away. "So how do both angels and these old gods exist?"

"They just do, okay?" Dean yelled impatiently. It really wasn't the time for explanations.

"You would dare," Taranis said, his voice booming and the air in the room cracking. Sparks jumped across his skin and the fabric of his suit, making it hard to look directly at his figure. "The god you speak of forced himself upon our lands until there were none left alive who knew us. Yet you speak of him as if he is the original, as if he created us?"

Taranis suddenly leapt forward in a blur, knocking Dean nearly off his feet and landing with a spray of sparks in front of Sam and Eva. He raised a hand, lightning crackling down his arm and making Sam's hair stand on end. The hunter had the good sense to drop out of the way, grabbing the woman and moving her with him as he fell. The air buzzed and Sam's skin tensed violently as the blow swept mere edges above their heads. He couldn't be lucky enough to dodge a god a second time—they had to do something, immediately.

Sam grabbed a little iron farrier's knife from his bag and stabbed it into Taranis's knee, earning a heavy shock for his trouble. The god yelled and grabbed the little squared knife, pulling it from his skin and throwing it to the other side of the room. "Dean," Sam called, hoping his brother had their iron fire-poker in his own bag.

"_Enough_," Taranis shouted, the sound of his voice like a physical force that blew the boys to the ground. He whipped around to face Dean, who had been reaching for his bag. "You will be punished for your lack of reverence. The span of your torture will last lifetimes! You will learn your place and kneel before divinity, and you will thank me for putting an end to your insignificant struggles!" the god roared.

Sam felt anger, then, and realized that it wasn't his own. There was a sound of whipping wind, and Taranis stopped suddenly, turning to face the newcomer. "'Torture,' 'divinity'...do I laugh, or do I cry?" the devil asked from in front of Sam.

"Lucifer," Taranis growled.

Eva whimpered, causing Sam to turn. "Did he just say 'Lucifer'?" She asked, eyes large and rimmed and red from crying. "Oh my God," she said, forming the sign of the cross. Eva then grabbed a knife from Sam's bag and held it in front of herself defiantly.

"Hear me, _archangel_. You will pay for what you have done to my kin," the god said. As he spoke, the wind outside began to pound at the warehouse doors, causing a wailing through the cracks and rattling the corrugated tin roof. The lights flickered and went dim before surging down in a line of electricity that flared across Taranis and nearly obscured him from view.

The angel sighed, his expression perpetually calm and casual. "No, you see, you threatened Sam Winchester. Told him to kneel for you. And unfortunately for you, you arrogant shit, I've had a pretty boring day." Sam knew it was more than that. Below the calmly spoken threats, Lucifer was righteously angry. But even as that rage built, Lucifer looked over his should at Sam, his expression expectant and focused on nothing but the young hunter.

Sam couldn't find the words, so he simply nodded, expression grave. Lucifer's emotions still blurred into his own, and so his anger was such that he wanted this monster to be erased for what he had done.

The angel disappeared in a blink, and reappeared with his hand through the god's chest. Taranis sizzled, as if being cooked by his own electricity, and then fell to the ground as ash.

"Lucifer," Sam began, relief washing over him that no one had been hurt-beyond a few bruises, of course. He was happy to see the angel, and despite being sore all over, he managed a sincere smile.

The angel turned to him, expression uncharacteristically serious. "I don't enjoy doing that, so you're going to stop putting yourself in mortal danger every other day," he said tightly. "I didn't put my war on hold so I could clean up for you."

And without waiting for a reply, the devil disappeared.

...

Cas had had a rough time of it, but with an angel's constitution, he healed quickly. Eva had only been lightly bruised from having Sam fall on her, but she was the one who really needed time for recovery. Through their entire drive away from the factory, she had asked for clarification again and again. She was having real trouble not only with the idea of multiple very real gods, but also that her life had just been saved by the devil. In the end, as much as they hated to do it, they had Cas wipe her memory. Ana had been put in a mental institution for talking about the same sort of thing too forcefully—they had no doubt a homeless woman like Eva would be scooped off the streets and shut away.

Sam felt guilty about the entire scenario, though he wasn't sure what they could have done differently. They had needed Eva, needed Cas, and needed Lucifer to save those people. It had been almost a hundred people, in fact, and it could have gotten worse without them. He called for Lucifer while Cas and Dean were gone taking Eva to a shelter in town. Sam felt the need to apologize and try to explain himself, but his prayer received no answer.

Sam worried, not only because he was genuinely concerned for the angel, but for more selfish reasons. He wanted that security net the brothers had never had before; that guarantee that if things got way out of their league, his own guardian angel would swoop in and deal with it. And even more, he wanted to know exactly what Lucifer had meant about merely putting his war on hold. Because Sam Winchester did not want to be the man who started the apocalypse twice.

...

**Hmm...I dunno how happy I am with that, but I know where I'd like us to go, so let's plow ahead, shall we?**


End file.
